


Bought and Sold

by PeaceHeather



Series: Merlin fics [11]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Beating, Bondage, Caning, Friendship, Gen, Good morgana, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Magic Revealed, Non-Sexual Bondage, Physical Abuse, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2019-10-15 16:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 103,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17532389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceHeather/pseuds/PeaceHeather
Summary: While still recovering their relationship after "The Curse of Cornelius Sigan", Arthur goes missing and is presumed dead. Merlin, despite his anger toward Arthur, refuses to give up on his friend, and goes on a search that takes him farther from home than he's ever been. Can he find and rescue the missing prince? Will Arthur forgive him for the methods he uses to save him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, my 50th work on AO3! After my last fic, I told everyone that I was going to step back from fandom so I could work on my original novel... and that was going pretty well, but then I got stalled, and *then* I got bludgeoned by a fic plot bunny that would not leave me alone. So, here I am again. Oh well, at least the novel got a few more chapters added... :)
> 
> This started as basically an excuse to tie Arthur up in lots of creative ways, and then it grew a plot. I *almost* wrote my first ever smut for it, but in the end I've opted against that. I may write smut someday, but still not quite yet. In the meantime, have some BAMF Merlin and some hurt/comforty goodness. As always, I promise a happy ending eventually.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An argument separates Merlin and Arthur. In the forest, Arthur is attacked. In the castle, Merlin vents to Gwen. Later that evening, Merlin notices Arthur is not in his rooms.

The cleanup from Cornelius Sigan's mess was still ongoing, and Merlin still wasn't speaking to him. _It must be Monday_ , thought Arthur, as he climbed the steps to his chambers. Arthur had tried to help the laborers clearing the courtyard, until his father had made it clear that a prince did not stoop to such things, but he was still hot, sweaty, and tired. A bath would be good, if he could convince Merlin to draw one. Or more accurately, if he could find Merlin to order it.

Technically, Merlin was still speaking to Arthur, but only if one counted "yes, sire," "no, sire," and "will that be all, sire?" as speaking, and they were all delivered in a clipped tone that did nothing to hide how Merlin was really feeling. The rest of the time, he was nowhere to be found. It wouldn't do for Arthur to be seen hunting for his own manservant, but Gwen would occasionally give him sympathetic looks whenever she caught him scowling and looking around him, trying to find the idiot without being obvious about it.

This nonsense had gone on for three days now, and Arthur was tired of it. So when he spotted Merlin, just leaving Arthur's chambers with a basket of laundry, he stopped him with a hand on his chest before the other man could dodge him again.

"Inside. Now."

"But I have the—"

" _Now._ " Arthur shoved, just a little, making Merlin stumble backwards and into Arthur's chambers. Arthur shut the door and locked it, while Merlin glared at him. He looked like he wanted to give Arthur a piece of his mind, but then he took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and said, "What does my lord need this time?"

"Oh, knock it off, Merlin, you never talk to me like that." Arthur peeled his gloves off and tossed them in the general direction of the table. "Quit pretending you're not angry and just say whatever it is, already. Great bloody girl," he added, muttering, as he crossed over and poured himself a drink of water.

"Oh, no, _sire_ , wouldn't dream of it," snapped Merlin. "You've made it perfectly clear this is all you want from me, haven't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, sure, _Cedric_ was perfectly willing to kiss your arse, but there's a limit to how far I'm willing to go for your massive ego."

Of course this was about bloody Cedric. "I gave you your job back, I don't know what you're still complaining about."

"You're the one who sacked me in the first place! And you did it because I told you Cedric wasn't to be trusted, and I was right."

"I sacked you because you were behaving like a complete fool!"

"Except for the part where _I was right._ You just didn't want to hear it."

"You wrestled the man to the ground _in my chambers_!"

"He was trying to steal your key to the vaults, you great prat! Was that not obvious? He was a thief, a _professional_ thief! You practically gave him a written invitation to come and steal anything he wanted!" Merlin was gripping the handles of the laundry basket as if he wished it were Arthur's own neck. "And all because he kissed your arse at every opportunity. I'd have thought you of all people would know better than to fall for such blatant flattery."

That was a low blow, and Arthur didn't actually want to deck his servant quite yet, so he ignored it. "Cedric saved my life on that hunt. I had to reward him somehow."

"He took the _credit_ for saving your life. Not the same thing. And you rewarded him by giving him _my job_."

"Oh, and I suppose you know who really threw that spear, then, hm?" Merlin gritted his teeth and didn't answer, and Arthur felt his eyes widen. "You do! Tell me."

"It's hardly my place to say, _sire_ ," Merlin said venomously. "Will that be all? Only I have his lordship's dirty _socks_ to wash, and we wouldn't want the royal feet to stink any more than they already do, now would we?"

"You know what, Merlin—"

"Would it kill you to say you're sorry?"

Arthur rounded on Merlin and threw his hands into the air, completely exasperated. " _For what?!_ "

"It's like I don't matter to you at all! I've saved your life how many times, gone with you on more adventures than I can count, been by your side through thick and thin—"

"You've known me for a year, Merlin—"

"—and the moment some smarmy, oily faced snake comes along and tells you whatever you want to hear, you chuck me out like yesterday's garbage—"

"—I didn't give him your job—"

"Well he bloody took it and you let him, didn't you?" Merlin dropped the basket on the bed and dragged his hands through his hair. "I've stood up for you, I've lied to your father for you, I've gone to the stocks for you, I've _drunk poison_ for you, and the moment you get a chance to stand up for _me,_ or listen to a word I'm telling you when I'm saying something is _wrong_ here, you ignore me and listen to this total stranger instead! I thought we were over this after that whole mess with Valiant, but I guess not!"

Arthur stood there, his mouth hanging open, feeling like he'd taken a punch to the chest. "That's not—"

"It is," said Merlin. "That's exactly what you did, Arthur. And you acted like it was _funny_ when I got angry over it. Like I had no reason to be upset in the first place. And I'm not interested in being your entertainment anymore, all right?" He picked up the laundry basket again with a little huff, and headed for the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, _sire_ , I have work to do. Wouldn't want to be sacked again for failing in my duties."

"Merlin…"

The lock clicked and the door swung open. "I'll be back come dinnertime," he said, and walked out.

"I didn't say you could leave," said Arthur weakly, but he was talking to an empty room.

* * *

 

Arthur sat on a fallen log and scrubbed his hands over his face with a weary sigh. He'd gone to the Darkling Woods after his fight with Merlin, needing to think, needing the calm that he only really felt when he was away from the castle. That calm was a long time coming, though; he was pretty sure he'd stomped his way through the forest and scared off any game for miles before he'd reached his favorite spot. Once he'd gotten away from the city, away from people, he'd let his temper show. It had faded quickly enough, however, and now he was just feeling tired and small.

Why couldn't Merlin understand that he couldn't be seen showing preferential treatment to a servant, of all people? Why didn't he grasp that Arthur couldn't just go to his father and say, "Well, Merlin says" and expect that to mean anything? Why didn't he know his place?

Arthur sighed again, dropping his hands from his face. He wasn't being fair, and he knew it. He already knew the answer to those questions: he'd shown Merlin preferential treatment from the beginning, treating him like a person and not just a nameless servant. Even when he'd been bullying Merlin, trying to drive him off, he'd seen him as _Merlin_ and not as just another of the endless parade of castle staff, or the faceless peasants of the city. Merlin had barreled his way into Arthur's life and refused to be put into a "place" where Arthur could safely ignore him. There had always been something about him… and if he were being fair, Arthur admired that.

On top of that, Merlin was right; he had proven his worth to Arthur again and again over the past year. And Arthur had responded by seeing only that Merlin envied Cedric's new position. He'd been embarrassed by Merlin's behavior, and sacked the man who was the closest thing Arthur could call to a friend. Merlin was also only speaking the truth when he said that Arthur had fallen for Cedric's flattery in a heartbeat.

He thought he'd been entitled to it. Even after Merlin, and Gwen, had shown him otherwise.

Never mind what Merlin thought of him right now, Arthur's own father would berate him for that level of stupidity. He should have at least asked around and learned more about Cedric before allowing him into the royal household. Maybe he'd have found out Cedric didn't really deserve the post.

Arthur frowned. If Cedric hadn't been the one to save his life from that boar, then who had? Who had really thrown the spear, and why wouldn't they have come forward? Why wouldn't Merlin say anything himself?

Well, that was easy; Merlin was still too angry at Arthur. And, like it or not, he was right to be. Sure, Arthur had given him his position back, but that wasn't really much of an apology considering Merlin hadn't deserved to lose it in the first place. Arthur was going to have to come up with some other, better, way of making amends. He couldn't ask Morgana, she'd just needle him endlessly, but maybe Gwen or even Gaius would have some idea of how to get back into Merlin's good graces.

He grimaced, and stood up, stretching. A year ago, he'd never have imagined a prince needing to appease some _servant_ in the first place. In the privacy of his thoughts, he could admit that he might have been a bit arrogant back then… and that he had Merlin and Gwen to thank for dragging him, kicking and screaming, towards better behavior.

Arthur turned to make his way back toward the castle, still thinking. He didn't get more than a few steps before he felt a sharp sting in the side of his neck. He slapped at it, expecting to find a bug under his fingertips, and was astonished when he came away with a metal tipped, feathered dart in his hand.

He took a deep breath to shout, his eyes widening, but before he could do anything else he felt his knees turn to water, his limbs grow heavy, and a wave of lightheadedness wash over him.

He was on the ground in the next instant, barely able to move. He dragged one arm feebly forward, hoping to push himself up, but he had all the strength of a half-drowned kitten.

In the span of a breath, even that went away, and he was left paralyzed on the forest floor.

* * *

"Unbelievable, arrogant, prat-faced— _prat_ ," Merlin muttered, scrubbing the shirt in his hands with increasing violence. "Can't listen to anyone that isn't him. Stuck-up, thick-headed, blind…" He held the shirt up to the light, then tossed it into the tub of rinse water to soak, grabbing a pair of trousers out of the basket next. "Listens to flattery more than he listens to actual advice. Wouldn't know the difference between a friend and an arse-kisser even if he got, got… kissed on the arse!" He plunged the trousers into the water, ignoring the suds that splashed up onto his own tunic, and began to scrub at a stain on one knee. "'Oh, I gave you your job back, you great baby', like that was some sort of apology. Like _that_ was supposed to be enough." He scoffed to himself, and lifted the trousers out of the water to inspect the stain. "Unbelievable. Just completelyy _yowch_!"

Merlin snatched his hands back out of the water and shook them frantically to cool them. The tub he'd been doing laundry in was now steaming rather a lot more than it had been a moment ago. He looked over at the rinse tub to see that it, too, was actually bubbling with heat, and winced. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, he took a deep breath, let it out, let his shoulders drop, and pushed a little magic into the water on purpose, cooling it back down.

He hadn't let his magic get away from him with his temper like that in a long time. Gaius would likely have had a conniption if he'd seen.

Merlin flexed his fingers, looking at the backs where he'd scalded them; there didn't seem to be too much damage, but if he needed to he could always raid Gaius's supply of burn ointment later. Of course, then the physician would want to know how he'd burnt his hands in the first place, and then Merlin would have to explain, and Gaius would likely have a conniption anyway. Merlin sighed; some days he couldn't win, no matter what he did.

"All right, Merlin?" Gwen said from the doorway.

"Hi, Gwen," he replied with a smile. Gwen could always make him feel better. "I'll be out of your way in just a minute."

"Oh, it's no trouble, plenty of room here," she replied cheerfully.  She found another tub full of water and drew up a stool. "Although, you know as the prince's manservant, technically you don't have to do his laundry yourself."

"I know," sighed Merlin. "I'm staying out of Arthur's way till dinnertime."

She grimaced in sympathy. "Is he angry with you?"

"No, I'm still angry with him."

Gwen stopped and gave him a look of complete exasperation, shaking her head. "Merlin, it's been days and days. You can't avoid him forever."

"Why not? It's what he wants from his servants, after all. Just a lot of… arse-kissing." He was using that word a lot, lately.

"I don't think that's true."

"He treated me worse than the dirt on his shoes, Gwen. I thought he'd been getting better, that we might almost be friends, but…" He shook his head, and put his hands carefully back into the tub. It stung a little, but was at least bearable again. "I guess I was wrong."

"Oh, Merlin." Gwen pulled a few things out of her basket and dropped them into the tub, before rummaging for the cake of soap. "He cares about you. He just… forgets sometimes. I think he's used to a certain sort of treatment, and he never gets that from you—"

"Oh, so it's my fault, is it?"

Gwen sat back up and pushed her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. "Don't go picking a fight with _me_ , just because you're angry with Arthur," she warned, looking him in the eye until he gave in and went back to scrubbing. He could feel his cheeks heating in shame.

"Sorry. No, you're right, of course," he said. "Anyway, we finally had it out earlier. I like to think I got through to him, but… well, I guess we'll see."

"You can't really expect him to apologize," she said, not unkindly. "I mean, he's the prince. And we're just—"

"—just servants, I know. He goes on about that often enough. We can't be friends, our stations are too far apart. Load of rubbish if you ask me. You and the Lady Morgana are friends."

"Well, yes, I like to think so, but that's different. She's not in line to the throne. She doesn't have the expectations put on her that Arthur does."

 _Doesn't have Uther breathing down her neck_ , was what that meant, in Merlin's mind. "I suppose not. But it wouldn't kill him to show me a little more respect. Or even basic courtesy. Anyone who deals with his dirty socks deserves a medal, if you ask me."

Gwen giggled, and Merlin grinned to hear it. For a while, all was right with the world again.

They scrubbed clothes in silence for a few minutes, then Merlin asked, "How is Morgana, anyway?" He'd been delivering sleeping draughts to her for several days running, now.

"About the same," said Gwen.

"Still having nightmares? It must be awful."

"She barely sleeps a few hours before they strike, even with the draughts. She says they don't work at all, just leave her feeling groggy in the mornings."

"Maybe Gaius can come up with something better."

"Maybe," said Gwen, but she sounded doubtful. "I hope so, anyway. She hasn't had dinner outside her rooms in ages. I keep her company, of course, but…"

"But she should get to see more people than just you?"

Gwen nodded sadly. "She doesn't deserve to be going through this, that much is certain."

They turned the talk to other things, servant gossip mostly, and Merlin hung up the prince's things to dry. "I'd better go see about getting His Pratness something to eat before he turns even grumpier," he said.

"You really shouldn't talk about him like that!" said Gwen, but she was smiling.

* * *

Merlin steeled himself before entering the prince's rooms, dinner in hand, but the other man wasn't there. Merlin frowned, wishing that Arthur had bothered to tell him he'd be eating with Uther tonight. There was no way Merlin was going to go down there to serve him now; it wasn't worth the trouble he'd be in to appear late anywhere near the king's dining hall. Or maybe Arthur was elsewhere, tormenting the knight-hopefuls or something, and would be back later.

Merlin shrugged, set the food down, and decided he'd turn Arthur's bed down and get out his things for bed, rather than wait around. If Arthur wanted to apologize, he knew where to find Merlin, or he could wait till morning when both of them had had a chance to cool down. In the meantime, Merlin had other places he'd rather be than the prince's empty chambers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is stripped and bound by his captors.  
> Merlin realizes Arthur is missing, and a search is instigated.

Arthur waited for unconsciousness to take him, fully expecting his mind to go as limp and helpless as his body, but instead he remained perfectly aware as he heard footsteps approaching him quietly. A hand touched his neck, feeling for his pulse.

"Still alive," said a man with a thick Saxon accent.

"Good," came the reply, from somewhere behind Arthur's shoulder.

Then hands were on his body, rolling him onto his back; he tried to see, tried to look, but his head lolled uselessly, and he only got a view of a nearby tree root, instead.

The people manhandling him took off his boots and undid his belt, and Arthur thought they were only going to rob him and leave him be; it was horrible and infuriating, but at least they would leave him alive, and he could hunt the bastards down later, after the poison had worn off.

Then they peeled his trousers off, and sat him up to remove his vest and tunic. He tried to make his tongue move in his mouth, tried to demand to know what they thought they were doing, but all that escaped his lips was a slurred, feeble noise with no words to it at all. The men didn't even seem to hear him.

When he was stripped down to his braies, the men pulled his arms behind his back and bound his wrists together, then he heard the click of metal and a collar—a collar!—was placed around his neck. Rage nearly gave Arthur the strength to lift his head, and he could feel one foot drag across the bracken before he went limp again.

They weren't going to leave him here. He wasn't being robbed.

He was being stolen.

There was a tug at his finger, as they slipped his mother's ring off, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He couldn't even lift his chin from his chest.

"Give him the antidote," said the second man he'd heard; his voice was thin and nasal, and carried no trace of foreign accent.

There was another sharp prick, in his shoulder this time, and then heat burned down Arthur's veins and through his body. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably for a moment, and Arthur gritted his teeth against the pain. As soon as he was able, he lifted his head, shaking off the lightheadedness as feeling returned to his limbs.

"Up," said the man. The Saxon grabbed Arthur by the collar and hauled him to his knees; Arthur saved himself from choking only by getting his feet under him, though his legs were still wobbly and he nearly fell over. He whipped his head around and got a good look at the slavers.

"How _dare_ you attack me?" he demanded, feeling the antidote and his rage heat him from head to toe. "I am the Crown Prince of Camelot, you blithering _fools_ , and I will have your heads before the sun has set."

The Saxon, a red-headed bear of a man in hunting leathers and fur-trimmed boots, only laughed. The other man, dressed a little better, like a well-to-do merchant, rolled his eyes.

"Gag him," he said to the Saxon, not even bothering to answer Arthur.

Arthur's eyes widened. "What are you—get off me! No!" He struggled, but the Saxon only shoved him backward against a tree with one hand. With the other, he pulled out a length of rag from somewhere inside his vest. Arthur tried to kick him barefoot, and only succeeded in knocking himself off balance as the Saxon pried his jaw open and stuffed the rag inside. His protests died away to incoherent grunts and mumbles as the Saxon took another strip of fabric and wound it around his head, sealing the gag in place.

Arthur yanked at the bonds on his wrists, to no avail, as the merchant stepped up to look him over appraisingly. He was standing in the woods wearing nothing but his braies and a bloody metal _collar_ , and this man was studying him like he'd study a bit of livestock he was planning to…

Oh, god.

That he was planning to buy. Or sell. Camelot didn't really bother with slaves, although there were bounty hunters who went after notorious criminals, or in Uther's case, dangerous sorcerers. The collar should have been a dead giveaway, but it simply hadn't occurred to Arthur that anyone kidnapping the prince wouldn't keep him for ransom back to the king.

Arthur's breath came faster through his nose as the merchant reached into a bag, pulled out a length of light chain, and clipped it to a ring on the collar. Then he handed it to the Saxon and turned away as if the act of stealing the Crown Prince into _slavery_ were of no consequence, making his way through the forest.

The Saxon pulled on the chain and Arthur stumbled, before bracing himself and pulling backward with all his might. He grunted into the gag, and the Saxon laughed again. "Sound like bear," he said, then stopped smiling and yanked on the chain hard enough to make Arthur fall flat; only his reflexes and a quick twist kept him from smashing his face into the ground.

The Saxon pulled again, slowly this time, and Arthur got his feet under him once more rather than choke. "Little bear," said the Saxon, pulling him upright. "You walk. Or I drag. Hn?" Arthur glared death at him, but the big man didn't seem to care. He simply yanked on the chain once more, forcing Arthur to stumble forward, and they began their trek through the forest.

He had hope, though—hope and a healthy dose of anger. They'd taken his things, including his mother's ring, but if they tried to sell any of that for money, a merchant would recognize the seal on the scabbard, and the fine quality of the clothing. There was a chance they would leave a trail for his father's men to follow. There was a chance Arthur would be found before they dragged him out of the kingdom.

In the meantime, he would fight. The metal collar cut into the back of his neck where he pulled against it, and his feet would no doubt be a mess from walking barefoot in the forest. His knees began to ache from all the times he stumbled and fell. Still, he was leaving a trail, and if he could slow down their passage enough, he might even be found before nightfall.

* * *

They came to a river, fast moving with the recent rains, and with a shallow bank that made a perfect spot to step into the water to wash clothing, bathe, or swim. The merchant took Arthur's clothes, neatly folded, and placed them on a boulder by the bank. His boots were left at the base of the rock, and his sword and scabbard hung from a nearby tree branch. They left his mother's ring square in the center of his folded clothing, glinting in the sun.

So much for selling his things.

* * *

Contrary to what Arthur liked to believe, Merlin wasn't always late with breakfast. Today, he made it to the kitchens on time to get the choicest fruits to go along with everything that Arthur usually ate—a bit of a peace offering, if Arthur would accept it. He also used the tiniest thread of magic to keep all the hot foods hot while he climbed the stairs to Arthur's chambers. It might not appease Arthur, but it couldn't hurt.

Of course, even if Arthur did forgive him for his outburst, Merlin would likely still spend today on the receiving end of Arthur's mace, for "practice".

Still, that was no excuse not to wake Arthur; if he was late, practice would only go on even longer. "All right, sire," Merlin called, opening the door, "time to rise and sh—shine," he finished quietly. Arthur's dinner was untouched on the table where Merlin had left it. Frowning, he set the breakfast tray down beside it, and looked to the bed. "Arthur?"

The curtains were still pulled back, just as Merlin had left them. The blankets were turned down, and Arthur's sleep shirt was still laid out beside the pillow… just as Merlin had left them. It didn't look as if Arthur had slept in his bed at all.

Merlin frowned, looking about the room. Had Arthur gone on a patrol without telling anyone? No, that didn't make sense, either. The last Merlin had seen him had been their argument yesterday afternoon; patrols always left in the morning.

There was still a chance that Arthur might come back from wherever he'd gone, and want breakfast, so Merlin decided to leave that tray behind, but gathered up yesterday's dinner and brought it down to the kitchens. The cooks were not too busy this time of day, so he made his way over to the head of the kitchen and waited until she turned to look at him.

"Adelaide," he asked, "did Arthur eat with the king last night? Only I brought him up dinner for his rooms, and he didn't touch it." He waved a hand over to where the scullery maid was scraping the wasted food off the plates and into the slops bucket for the pigs. "I thought maybe he'd decided to eat with his father and just didn't tell me."

"No," mused the cook, "His Majesty ate alone last night. The Lady Morgana has been ill, and he didn't invite any of the council to join him…" She frowned, wiping her hands on her apron.

"What about patrol?"

"I didn't make up any rations this morning, no."

"The last I saw Arthur was yesterday afternoon," said Merlin.

"Never you fret," said Adelaide. "Perhaps His Highness ate with the knights. I wouldn't have noticed one meal or less from that crowd."

"Maybe," replied Merlin, though he privately doubted it. "I'll ask around."

"Never you fret," she said again, turning back to the hearth. "I'm sure he'll turn up, annoyed and wondering where you've been, hm?"

At this, Merlin smiled. "I hope so."

* * *

"Sir Leon," Merlin called, catching up to him in the corridor.

"Merlin." The older knight turned, seeming bemused but not annoyed to be addressed by a servant. "Is there something His Highness needs?"

"Well, see, that's the thing," replied Merlin, "I haven't seen Arth—His Highness—since yesterday afternoon. He didn't eat his dinner that I brought up, and his bed hasn't been slept in. I wondered if you or the other knights might have seen him."

Leon frowned. "He's not due to go on patrol that I know of…"

"…and the patrols always leave in the mornings, right, I know," finished Merlin. "Cook thought maybe he'd have spent the night with some of you lot, since she knows he didn't eat with the king."

"No, he wasn't with me," said Leon, "but I'll ask around. If I need to, I'll organize a search. His Majesty won't be pleased about it, though."

Merlin grimaced. Leon was right; Uther would need to be told, and sooner rather than later. "Better you than me that talks to him. He won't have your head just for looking at him wrong."

Leon unbent enough to laugh at that. "Don't worry, I won't make you approach His Majesty. As for His Highness, I'm sure everything is fine."

"I hope so," said Merlin again.

* * *

But as it turned out, none of the knights had seen Arthur either, and while the guard had noted him leaving the city yesterday (not long after his argument with Merlin, he noted), no one on either the afternoon or the evening rotation had seen him come back in.

"Time for a search?" Merlin asked Leon.

"Time for a search," he answered.

* * *

By afternoon, the entire city was roused, looking for the missing prince in taverns and (discreetly) in brothels, in the homes of those knights and nobles who did not live in the castle, and in the homes of suspected sorcerers. The guard was a lot less polite and careful in those homes, and Merlin winced to see an elderly man tossed into the street while they ransacked his things.

Regardless of how they were treated, no one had seen Arthur, and Merlin's worry grew with every passing hour.

"We'll find him, don't you worry," said Leon, but he wasn't laughing anymore.

* * *

Merlin insisted on going with the search parties into the Darkling Woods; Leon was head of one of the groups, so Merlin attached himself to that one, figuring he'd be less likely to be ordered back to the castle. By now, most of the knights knew him by sight, and were much less likely to harass him for tagging along. Once in the woods, the men spread out and began searching high and low, calling Arthur's name, and reconvening every hour to search in a different direction. There was a pattern to the search, Leon explained, but Merlin had no idea what it might be.

Whenever he was alone, Merlin used his magic to see the paths ahead, looking for footprints, or signs of a struggle, or anything, but he was no tracker and it was mostly useless.

"His Highness is a skilled hunter," explained Leon. "He always walks as lightly as he can in the forest, to leave as little trace as possible. Finding his trail will not be easy."

He was right; it was near sunset when they found a track in the leaves, leading to a nearby river.

"I know this place," said Sir Bors. "The local villagers sometimes come here to do laundry or wash. But with the recent rains I doubt anyone has been here in the past few days."

There were several tracks leading to and from the bank, and a broad path that Bors said led back to the village, but it didn't appear that Arthur had used it.

They did, however, find his clothes and sword, neatly folded on a boulder near the bank.

"Would he have gone swimming?" Merlin asked doubtfully. There was something off about what he was looking at, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

"I would have thought His Highness would know better than to swim in the river when it's so close to flooding," answered Bors. "But his things are all here. There's no sign of a struggle…"

There was a long pause as they all thought of why Arthur might not have come back. Merlin swallowed in a throat gone dry with worry, and he saw all the men's faces grow grim.

"We'll search downstream," ordered Leon. "Leodegrance, pick three men, find a place to cross, and search the other side. Gaheris, you return to the castle to notify the king. Bors, take a man and go up to the village, see if they've found His Highness or saw him at all yesterday. The rest of you are with me. Merlin?"

"I'll carry his things," said Merlin, gathering them up. He put the ring in his pocket for safekeeping, tied the boots together to sling over his shoulder, and then gathered up Arthur's clothes and sword in a tidy bundle. "He'll need them once we find him."

"Once we find him," said Leon, nodding, but his forehead was creased with worry, and he didn't sound convinced.

"We'll find him," said Merlin quietly. "We have to."

Leon searched his face, then nodded again, seeming a little more certain this time. "We'll find him."

* * *

But darkness fell before Leon called off the search, and they still hadn't found him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur suffers at the hands of his captors, and makes an escape attempt.  
> Merlin worries as the search continues with no sign of Arthur.

The slavers and Arthur walked throughout the day, avoiding the road and any nearby villages. Arthur stumbled often, his bare feet tender and likely bleeding from all the twigs he'd stepped on. The Saxon holding his leash barely gave him a second glance whenever he fell to his knees, just hauled him back upright by the chain and then gave another tug to keep Arthur moving forward. Always forward, and away from Camelot.

Night fell, and Arthur expected them to stop, but instead they continued on well after dark, until they came to a camp deep in the woods. It wasn't much; Arthur's assessment was that the slavers were traveling light so that they could escape Camelot quickly with their prey. Their tent was nothing more than a low awning stretched across the ground and propped up with sticks, so that they would have to crawl in to their bedrolls to sleep.

The merchant hadn't really said anything to the Saxon all day, and didn't do so now either. He turned his back to them, began to uncover the coals in the fire pit, and blew them back to life, adding kindling until there was a small blaze going. Meanwhile, the Saxon sat Arthur down against a tree and wrapped rope around his waist and the trunk, drawing it tight. Arthur grunted, feeling the rope dig into the muscles of his belly, making it hard to breathe.

When that was done, he pulled out a water skin, and began to unwind Arthur's gag. Arthur worked his tongue, and eventually managed to spit the fabric out of his mouth, gone dry from the day's walk. He moved his jaw from side to side, and glared up at the Saxon.

"I demand to know where you are taking me," he said hoarsely.

The Saxon looked at Arthur like he was an especially stupid child. With an exaggerated sigh, he set the water skin down, then pried Arthur's jaw open and stuffed the gag back in. Arthur struggled, of course he did, jerking his head from side to side as best he could, but it was useless as the Saxon bound his mouth once more.

When he was done, Arthur was left heaving angry breaths through his nose, his gaze darting between the Saxon's face and the water skin on the ground. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until the drink he'd been expecting was denied him.

"Little bear not very smart," said the man. "We try again tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Arthur was going to be left like this all night? What if he suffocated? He cried out behind the gag, and scuffed his feet across the ground, trying to push himself upright against the tree, but the ropes at his waist held him firmly in place.

"Tomorrow," said the Saxon, and turned his back on him.

There was a part of Arthur that was still outraged that they dared turn their backs on a _prince_ , that he was being put through this indignity, that they'd dared to lay hands on the royal person at all.

There was another part, hidden beneath the rage, that was beginning to grow afraid.

* * *

 

The other two men didn't even bother putting up a watch on their camp, just crawled into their bedrolls and went to sleep, leaving Arthur alone at the tree. As soon as he thought they were asleep, he began trying to escape. He writhed and twisted his wrists and hands, but the knots there held firm. They'd been tied in such a way that he couldn't even reach them, no matter how he tried. Eventually, after what felt like hours of struggle, Arthur sighed, thumping his head against the tree trunk in exhaustion. Saxons were vicious fighters, but they were sailors too, before anything else. It only made sense that the bastards would know how to tie knots, but that didn't mean Arthur had to like it.

He was too upset to sleep, and thirsty almost beyond bearing, but too tired to keep struggling more than a few minutes every hour. Arthur could feel his wrists grow raw and tender, but still he fought. He would fight with the last breath left in his body; he was a Pendragon, and a Pendragon was never weak. Never gave up.

* * *

 

By the time the sun rose, he was no closer to being free than he'd been the night before. His arms ached, his head was pounding, and all he could think about was his desperate thirst. If he didn't get water soon, he knew, he would collapse and likely die.

What a miserable end for a prince of Camelot.

Finally his captors began to stir; the one who looked like a merchant was first to climb out of the tent and move off behind the trees, barely sparing Arthur a glance as he did. Arthur thought he looked pleased with himself, though, and he decided that the merchant would be the first one he killed, as soon as he got the chance.

The Saxon emerged soon after, yawning and scratching his belly. After he'd finished his own business, he came over behind Arthur and undid the rope that bound him to the tree trunk. Then, as he'd done last night, he unwound the strip of linen sealing Arthur's gag in, and waited for Arthur to spit out the rest.

Arthur's throat was dry enough, he wasn't sure he'd be able to speak, but the Saxon still lifted his chin with one hand and looked him in the eye. Arthur jerked away, and the man slapped him lightly upside the head. "You pick," he said, and held up the gag in one hand, and the water skin in the other.

Arthur tried to swallow, and nodded toward the water skin. It wasn't a concession, he told himself. It wasn't giving these bastards what they wanted. It was biding his time to make an escape, and Arthur couldn't do that if he was half-dead of thirst, nor gagged and unable to breathe deeply.

The Saxon held the skin to his lips and tipped it up, letting Arthur drink his fill, smiling as Arthur strained forward to get as much of the water as he could with his hands tied behind his back. "See? Little bear can learn," he said, and Arthur decided that while the merchant might die first, the Saxon would die slowly, once it was his turn. He glared, but the other man only patted him on the head like a child before pulling on the chain, still attached to Arthur's collar, and forcing Arthur to stand.

The Saxon led Arthur to the camp's makeshift latrine; then, to Arthur's shock, he yanked Arthur's braies down to his knees, leaving him bare to the morning breeze. Before Arthur could yell a protest, though, he was standing behind Arthur and untying his wrists. Arthur's shoulders ached as he brought his arms around, and he rubbed at his wrists trying to get the blood back into his hands.

The Saxon gestured at the latrine and muttered something in his own language; Arthur was pretty sure he got the gist of it, though. The Saxon was holding his chain loosely and looking away to give Arthur some semblance of privacy while he did his business.

Naturally, he took off running.

With one hand, Arthur yanked the chain from the Saxon's grip as he leapt over the pit, and ignored the pain of tree roots and twigs poking into the soles of his feet. He ran past the camp, ignoring the merchant's cry of anger, jumped over a fallen log, ducked under branches, and moved as fast as his legs could carry him. He might not be able to make it back to Camelot in a day, but if he could just get back to that river, he could jump in and let the current carry him to safety. Arthur could hear the Saxon crashing through the underbrush behind him, and knew that the other man had boots and was bigger than him, but sometimes bigger meant slower. He had a chance. He had a chance.

Then something—a vine?—wrapped around Arthur's upper legs, followed quickly by another below his knees; unbalanced, Arthur hit the ground hard, barely getting his arms up in time to protect his head and face. Without missing a beat, he rolled over, reaching to free his legs before the Saxon caught up to him. Instead of vines, he saw a tangle of ropes with weights at the ends, wrapped around him several times. He kicked with all his might and only barely succeeded in loosening the ropes. Arthur cursed, panting, and yanked at the weights, but that only seemed to pull the ropes tighter.

The Saxon didn't even bother running the last few steps to Arthur's side. He wasn't smiling now, Arthur noticed; he had only a second to think, _Uh-oh_ , before the Saxon's fist smashed into the side of his head. He wasn't sure he'd ever been hit so hard in his life without a helmet on.

Arthur went limp, stunned, his vision blurring as the Saxon hit him again. The other man, the merchant, said something, but Arthur's ears were ringing and he barely heard the words, never mind understanding them. There was something important he had to do, he needed to get up…

Someone was doing something to his legs, and Arthur briefly saw a tangle of ropes as his vision cleared, then blurred again. He struggled weakly, trying to get up, but it didn't do any good. A hand at his shoulder forced him to roll heavily onto his stomach; one arm was twisted behind his back, and then another hand on his neck pulled at Arthur's collar. Was he wearing a shirt? Something didn't make sense… Where was Merlin, he could explain what was going on…

The collar bit into Arthur's throat and he choked, rearing back and staggering to his feet. He tried to straighten up, but the hand on his neck kept him bent almost double, his head pounding and throbbing from the blows he'd taken.

He was forced to walk like that, his head down at the level of his waist and one arm twisted high up behind his back. Arthur staggered and stumbled, trying to gather his wits and remember where he was and what was going on. His feet hurt, and his shoulder where he'd landed on it. "This… wha'," he slurred, but no one answered him. Where the hell was Merlin?

He was just starting to get annoyed with this treatment when someone threw him forward, hard, and he landed on his stomach with a grunt. Before he could push himself to his knees, though, a foot between Arthur's shoulder blades shoved him flat. He felt both his arms pulled behind his back, and his wrists were bound tightly together.

Bound… Memory came back in a rush. The slavers. The Saxon. Trying to escape.

He'd failed.

Arthur shut his eyes in nausea and defeat, letting the voices of his captors wash over him. By the time he opened them again, his hands were already tied tightly, with a second rope passed around his upper arms, pulling his elbows painfully taut and making his forearms tingle with lost circulation. He heard bells, like the kind farmers used on sheep and goats, then someone was yanking on his ankle and wrapping it in leather. Arthur twisted as best he could to look, and saw a strap with a buckle on it, and two or three small bells attached. They jangled when his ankle was dropped, and then again when the Saxon moved to his other leg. Finally, Arthur heard the clink of chain, and watched as the Saxon fastened fetters into place.

He cursed internally.

Arthur would be able to walk, he knew from his experience taking prisoners back to the castle, but not quickly, and running would be next to impossible. Unless the slavers took the fetters back off for some reason, he wouldn't be escaping again.

He cursed again, this time with more feeling.

A Pendragon didn't give up, but fighting back against his captivity just got a lot harder.

* * *

 

The day after Arthur's disappearance, tension filled the air in Camelot, as search parties set out downstream from where Arthur's things had been found. Squads of knights were sent to every village along the river, and horsemen scoured the roads nearby. Uther was in fine form, terrifying everyone who crossed his path from knight to noble to servant, although Merlin could at least understand the king's worry for his son. Still, he did his best that day to stay out of the way, not at all wanting to draw the man's attention to himself.

Sir Leon wouldn't let Merlin go with the knights this time, claiming apologetically that Merlin wasn't a skilled enough rider or tracker, which unfortunately was only the truth. "You did your part, alerting us that His Highness was missing," Leon said, with one hand on Merlin's shoulder. "You'll be of more use here, helping Gaius. His Highness… might be injured when we find him, and you're Gaius's assistant as well as Arthur's manservant. You can help him prepare. Just in case."

"Right. Just in case."

Needless to say, Merlin had very little head for grinding herbs and winding bandages for Gaius. "There has to be something I can do to help," he grumbled, pounding some hapless agrimony to dust in Gaius's mortar and pestle. "I bet I could find Arthur with my magic."

"Merlin, I shouldn't have to tell you by now what a foolish idea that is," said the physician, reaching across the table to pull the mortar out of Merlin's hands. He held out a hand and raised his eyebrow, waiting, and Merlin huffed and passed him the pestle. "Magic is not a solution to every problem you have; how many times must I tell you that?"

Merlin sighed. "I know. I know, but still… I can't ride well enough to go with the patrols. I can't track in the woods like a hunter or a soldier. But I can't just _sit_ here, either. There's something _off_ about all this."

Gaius paused in his work and glanced over at Merlin curiously. "What do you mean?" At least he didn't sound ready to cast Merlin's thoughts aside without consideration.

"I'm not sure," he said slowly, shaking his head. "I mean, Arthur and I argued before he left, so maybe that's part of it, but—"

"It's natural to blame oneself whenever something upsetting happens," said Gaius, but Merlin was already frowning.

"No, that's not it either, or not all of it, anyway. There was just… when we were at the riverbank, and we found Arthur's things. There was something wrong with them, but I couldn't figure out what."

Gaius leaned in, glancing toward the closed door. "Something magical?" he asked quietly.

"I don't think so. I could check, if you wanted. But I didn't feel anything like that. There's just something _nagging_ me, right at the tip of my tongue, sort of, and I can't tell what it is."

"Well, until you do know, I forbid you to do any sort of magic to speed things along. Even magic is no substitute for wit and intelligence. You can't rush into these things blindly, you know that."

"No," said Merlin, subdued. That was a lesson he'd learned more than once. "I know."

But as the second day passed into evening, still with no sign of Arthur, he became determined to do something, whether Gaius approved of it or not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is punished for his earlier escape attempt (warning: violence).  
> Merlin speaks with Morgana about her nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised, this is the chapter that really earns this fic's "graphic violence" warning tag. In the previous chapter, Arthur tried to escape his captors; in this one, he is punished for that. I don't expect anything to be too brutal, and I don't expect future chapters to be as violent as this one. However, if you're sensitive to such things, you may want to avoid Arthur's section of the chapter, and skip down to Merlin's instead. Do a CTRL+F for "Geoffrey" and it'll take you to the first line of the section. You are also welcome to ask me for spoilers in the comments, if you need them.

After Arthur's escape attempt, the Saxon kept him on a short leash, literally; the chain attached to Arthur's collar was kept tight in the other man's fist, which he held only about a foot from the collar itself. The Saxon kept his arm down low by his waist, forcing Arthur to walk stooped over with his elbows in the air, like some kind of deformed chicken. The links on his fetters dragged the ground and tripped him up, and the bells fastened to his ankles made a humiliating racket with every step. He sounded like a Morris dancer, trotting merrily through the woods as though he weren't being stolen away from his entire life with every step.

To make matters worse, the merchant set a brisk pace for them all to follow, one that Arthur with his fetters could barely keep up with. The shackles bit into his ankles with every step that went a little too far, and every time he lost his balance or tripped himself jerking against them. He fell repeatedly, and was forced to rely on the Saxon's quick reflexes to keep from strangling himself or breaking his neck.

By midday, Arthur was in a kind of full-body haze of pain and fatigue. He'd not slept the night before, too intent on escaping, and now every step he took required his full attention, so that his mind could not rest even as he walked. His wrists and shoulders were points of pain that stood out from the overall ache of his back and neck, from walking bent over all morning. His feet were sore and probably bleeding, his knees were scuffed, and the muscles of his thighs burned from the effort of holding himself upright in such an awkward position. The weather was warm, and the exertion had him sweating even though he was only wearing his braies.

He barely registered it when the Saxon and the merchant began talking to one another; they spoke in tones too low for Arthur to hear over the stupid ankle bells he wore, but he didn't miss the way the merchant glanced over his shoulder to smile mockingly at Arthur. He had the look of someone who was planning something, and Arthur had a feeling he wouldn't like whatever it was.

They finally stopped for a rest in the afternoon, and the Saxon allowed Arthur to stand up as straight as his bound arms would allow. He almost groaned in relief, except he could see the Saxon eying him as if he was looking for an excuse to stuff his mouth with that damned gag again. Arthur gritted his teeth and kept quiet.

He really was going to kill that man slowly, when he got the chance.

Arthur could hear the sounds of a village nearby, just on the other side of the trees. The merchant and the Saxon conferred for a moment, before the merchant turned and headed into the village.

Freedom, escape, so close that Arthur could taste it. Without thinking, he actually took a step to follow the merchant, before the chain in the Saxon's fist brought him up short. He even took a deep breath to yell for help, but the Saxon seemed to know what he was thinking even before he did, because a big, meaty hand was clapped over his mouth before he could make a sound.

Arthur was yanked back, the back of his head pressed against the Saxon's chest, and held tightly enough that he knew it would be pointless to struggle. Instead, he breathed through his nose and tried not to shake with rage… or despair.

A Pendragon never gave up.

* * *

 

The merchant came back riding a horse and leading another, both laden with bags and bundles; between them, strapped to the saddles somehow, was a sturdy-looking water yoke with two empty buckets swinging from it. Arthur couldn't think why they would need such a thing.

"Little bear stupid today," said the Saxon. "Not tame. We tame him now."

Arthur whipped his head around, nearly seeing red with rage. " _Never_ ," he snarled.

"They all say that," said the Saxon. He didn't even bother to look at Arthur as he said it. He did, however, pull out the fabric Arthur now recognized and hated, and pinned Arthur against the tree trunk while he gagged him once more. With the fetters on, Arthur couldn't even bring his knee up to kick the Saxon in the groin. All he could do was shuffle his feet and make the bells on his ankle jangle and clang.

The Saxon pulled Arthur away from the tree and into the little clearing, then kicked at the back of Arthur's legs, dropping him to his knees in the dirt, while the merchant undid the yoke from the saddles and brought it over. They balanced it over Arthur's shoulders, but he just ducked his head and twisted his body to make it fall off.

The Saxon sighed. "Stupid bear," he said, and grabbed Arthur by the hair. With his arms bound behind his back, Arthur could do nothing as he was forced to lie on his stomach, with this face in the dead leaves and bracken; when the merchant came and stood on the chain attached to his collar, he couldn't even lift his head.

The Saxon put the yoke back in place, and this time wound rope around it and Arthur's neck, over and over again, taking his time with it. He untied Arthur's arms, and Arthur groaned into the gag as feeling returned to his limbs. The muscles were cramped and stiff, aching too much to move, and he cried out despite himself when they were pulled out to the sides and tied to either end of the yoke. He could feel a muscle spasm building in one shoulder, where he'd been bitten by the Questing Beast, and he bit down on the gag as best he could to ride out the pain.

They hoisted him to his knees, but did not help him to stand. Instead, the merchant wandered to the edge of the clearing and cut a thin branch from one of the saplings there. He whipped it through the air a few times, then turned to look Arthur over again, appraisingly, just as he had when they'd first taken him… and Arthur knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, the merchant walked around behind him, out of Arthur's line of sight. He braced himself, hearing the cane whistle through the air, and hissed through the gag when it landed across his shoulders.

And then again, lower on his back.

And again.

The merchant whipped him without saying a word the entire time, covering his back and shoulders in welts that Arthur thought must surely split open and bleed soon. They overlapped one another, and Arthur lost count of the blows as they rained down, again and again. Before long, instinctively, Arthur was twisting, trying to get away from the cane, but that only allowed the end to strike at the sensitive skin along his ribs, or under his arms, or even to wrap around to his chest once or twice.

Finally the blows stopped; Arthur was shaking from pain, but proud of himself all the same, because he hadn't cried out even once, as far as he could remember. He was drenched in sweat and his breath was coming in little gasps through his nose, but he hadn't been weak. Hadn't broken in the face of a simple beating.

"We're not done yet," said the merchant in his thin, nasal voice. Arthur thought he sounded amused. "That was for running away…" There was a rustling sound and a little grunt behind him as the man presumably knelt down. "…and this is so you won't do it again."

Arthur heard the whistle of the cane through the air, and braced for another blow, but this time it struck on the sensitive backs of his legs, where he hadn't been expecting it. This time he cried out in shock and pain; before he could recover mentally, the next blows were already landing.

* * *

When it was over, Arthur's voice was hoarse, and there were tears of pain rolling down his cheeks. The merchant whipped the cane through the air one last time, and Arthur flinched hard, but nothing happened except that the merchant laughed behind him. He'd made sure to cover Arthur's arse in welts, and the backs and outsides of his thighs, his calves, and even the soles of his feet. Every inch of Arthur's back side was screaming as if he'd been set on fire, and he swayed on his knees, barely able to keep his balance and stay upright.

It took both of the slavers together to assist Arthur up to his feet, and he cried out again as he put weight on the soles; his knees buckled, but the two men only hauled him upright once more. Surely, surely his feet were running blood by now; the way they felt, he must be leaving bloody tracks for any farm boy to follow. It was almost something to hope for, some way for Camelot's knights to track him and find him, if only they could pick up the trail to this point. Arthur looked down, but as tender as his feet were, he could see no difference, nor blood on the forest floor. The skin seemed to be no more broken than it had been before.

The merchant fastened the end of Arthur's chain to a ring on his saddle, then he and the Saxon both mounted up.

Arthur could barely stand, but when the merchant nudged his heels into the horse's sides, he had no choice but to walk or else fall and be dragged by the collar around his neck.

Of course they bypassed the village, keeping to the fallow fields just beyond the farthest houses. Arthur struggled over the uneven ground, mincing his steps and gasping for breath through his nose. His fetters caught on every lump of unturned soil and hummock of grass, it seemed, and he stumbled as much as he had before, only now he didn't have the Saxon's hand to guide him upright if he fell.

They stopped again when they were only a little ways past the other side of the village, and Arthur wondered what they would do next; he was sure this was not to be a rest for his benefit.

The Saxon walked over to where a bunch of stones had been cleared from the fields and gathered into a pile. He pulled a few stones loose and hefted them in his hands before nodding; then he walked over and dropped them, one by one, into the buckets hanging off the yoke on Arthur's shoulders. He filled the buckets with stones, weighing the yoke down until it was painfully heavy, and Arthur struggled to remain upright. Finally, he unlocked the fetters around Arthur's ankles, though he left the bells in place.

Arthur was strong; he knew this about himself. He worked every day, trained on the pitch with the other knights, built up his endurance and his skill until he was the finest warrior in the five kingdoms. He hadn't lost any tournament he'd entered since he was sixteen. He was no ox of a man like some knights he'd met, but he was strong.

This, his captivity and punishment, was the hardest thing he'd ever had to face. As they set off down the road once more, Arthur staggering under the weight of his yoke, he wondered how long he'd be able to last before he collapsed.

* * *

On the second night since Arthur's disappearance, Gaius went to visit Geoffrey, leaving Merlin at loose ends; without the prince there to tend to, he had found himself with almost nothing to do except worry. He couldn't go on the patrols with the knights, and there were only so many chores he could invite himself to help out with around the palace before he was gently reminded that other servants had those jobs. He could help Gaius during the day, delivering medicines and preparing herbs, but there was only so much he could do there, too.

Gaius was convinced that there was nothing Merlin's magic could do to help find Arthur, but Merlin really wasn't sure that was the case. He was still avoiding the damn dragon, but he hadn't had the time to read his magic book in quite a while, and there was a chance he might find something useful in its pages.

He was in his room, then, midway through a section on divination, when he heard the door to the physician's chambers open. He frowned. Gaius wasn't due back for quite a while yet, and it was after the hour that most patients came to ask for his help.

"Gaius?" he called, sitting up.

"Merlin!" That was Morgana's voice, only she sounded frightened. Morgana never sounded frightened.

"I'll be right there!" he called back, as he slipped his book under his bed and put his shoes back on. "Just a second."

He clattered down the steps to the main chamber a moment later, as Morgana turned to look at him. She was wearing a dressing gown over her night clothes and wringing her hands together, her hair in disarray. Merlin had never seen her look so distraught.

"What's wrong? Have they found Arthur?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, I haven't heard anything about Arthur. It's…" She trailed off, and to Merlin's horror, tears began to well up in her eyes.

"Morgana?" He reached out, thinking to guide her to the bench to sit down, but she actually flinched away from him. "Morgana, what's wrong?"

"Merlin," she said, then her breath hitched as if she were struggling not to cry. "Merlin, I think I'm going mad."

Merlin blinked. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but she actually seemed serious. "You're _not_ ," he said forcefully. "Morgana, you're one of the strongest people I know. Whatever's happening to you, it's not madness." He approached her carefully, reaching out again more slowly this time, and she let him touch her. Morgana was actually trembling under Merlin's hands, and he couldn't imagine what sort of horrors she must be thinking of in order to be this frightened. "Tell me everything," he said gently. "You know I'm your friend. I won't even tell Gaius if you don't want me to."

"Gaius can't help with this," she replied. "His potions don't do anything, and tonight…" Her breath hitched again. "Promise me you won't say anything. Especially not to Uther."

"The king doesn't exactly come looking to me for advice," said Merlin with a little smile, but Morgana didn't look reassured. "I promise." She'd mentioned Gaius's potions… "Is it your nightmares?"

Morgana nodded, and a tear broke free to slip down her cheek. "They come true, Merlin. I dream things and then they happen. Sophia, the Questing Beast… I _saw_ them, days before they happened. Sometimes weeks. And this time…" She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. "It's not _natural_ , Merlin. The things I see come _true_. Please, you have to believe me."

"I do," said Merlin quietly. He glanced at the door, making sure it had latched shut. "I believe you, Morgana. I remember, you tried to warn us about Sophia. And the Questing Beast, you told us about that, too."

Morgana shivered, and Merlin finally managed to guide her over to sit near the fire. "Can I get you anything?"

"No potions," she said quickly. "They don't _work_."

"No, I wasn't thinking of medicine; I'm useless at that sort of thing still. But maybe some tea?" Merlin lifted the pot Gaius always kept on the coals. "I know where we keep that, at least. I promise I won't give you an elixir for cough by mistake."

"Tea," said Morgana, smiling tentatively. "Of course. I'm sorry. It's just, Gaius…"

"I know," said Merlin, reaching for a couple of cups. "He's trying to help you, but—"

"But I don't think medicine can help against magic, Merlin," Morgana whispered.

He froze, and set the pot back down. "Magic?" he asked carefully.

"No one will say it," she said. "But these dreams aren't natural. They can't be. They come true. It has to be magic, Merlin. I think—I think I have magic."

"Morgana…" Merlin had had his suspicions, of course he had, after the Questing Beast especially, but he hadn't had the time to go to Gaius and talk to him. And then this business with Arthur had driven the thought right out of his head.

"Please, Merlin. Gaius always tells me the nightmares are just because of a delicate disposition, or an imbalance of the humors, or that my imagination is running away with me, but I know that's not true. I _know_ it. Please, I just need to hear someone else say it. I need to know I'm not going mad."

"You're not," said Merlin. He couldn't tell her about his own magic, but he could at least give her part of the truth. "I've… heard of people who could see the future before," he said slowly. "They call it the Sight. And… I think that's what you have. I think you're right, I think it is magic. And it's _not_ madness."

To his surprise, Morgana threw her arms around him and squeezed. She was still shivering, and he could hear her sniffling into the folds of his neckerchief. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you."

He brought his arms up carefully to enfold her, and just held her for a second. "It's all right, Morgana. It'll be okay."

"I have magic, in Uther's household," she said bitterly, pulling back. "Things are _not_ all right."

"Well… that's fair, I suppose." Merlin let her go and went back to pouring the tea. "But you're not going mad. That's something isn't it? You just need… from what I've heard, you can sort of… practice?" He glanced up to see her studying him thoughtfully. "You can kind of, get a feel for what the Sight does for you, and get it to work _for_ you instead of fighting it all the time. I think if you were to try and see things deliberately, while you were awake, maybe the dreams would be less intense. Maybe… maybe your Sight wouldn't be fighting so hard to come out, if you _let_ it out instead."

"How do you know all this?" she asked.

Merlin shrugged uncomfortably. He couldn't exactly tell her he'd just been reading up on that very thing. "I'm not from Camelot, you know that…" He trailed off, unsure how much more he could say without giving himself away, and unwilling to compound the lie. Hopefully Morgana would just take him to mean that people in Essetir talked about magic a little more freely than they did in Camelot.

"That's… it never really occurred to me to try something like that," said Morgana. She wrapped her hands around the teacup, letting the heat seep into her fingers. "I like it, though. It's something I can _do_ , rather than something that's just inflicted upon me, like these nightmares."

"I can't imagine," said Merlin, and that was the entire truth. Morgana smiled at him, and he smiled back, pleased that he hadn't said the wrong thing.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping at their tea as the hour grew late.

"Gaius will be back before too much longer," he said finally. Morgana nodded.

"I came down here because I needed someone to talk to. I'm glad I found you instead of him."

"I'll always listen," said Merlin. "Anytime you need me."

"Then listen to this," she replied. "I had another nightmare tonight. Worse than usual." She licked her lips, then said, "Arthur was in it."

Merlin sat up straight. "Arthur?"

Morgana wouldn't meet his eyes, fidgeting with her teacup, but she eventually nodded. "Everyone else is giving up hope, but it'll be a disaster if no one keeps looking for him. I think… I think that means he's still alive."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin realizes what has been bothering him about finding Arthur's clothing. He prepares to use magic to search for Arthur.  
> Arthur is pushed to the point of exhaustion, and isn't sure how much longer he can continue to fight his captors.  
> Merlin uses a spell and gets his first confirmation that Arthur is still alive.

Alive.

Arthur might still be alive.

Morgana had told him a little of her dreams before leaving for the night; the images were disjointed, but she said that sometimes she saw Arthur stumbling through the woods with his hands behind his back, and other times she saw him kneeling, arms spread wide, and screaming. Then there was a boat, she said, and Arthur was sailing away, farther and farther away, until he disappeared and no one ever saw him again.

"We have to keep looking," she'd said, grasping at Merlin's sleeve, just before she left to return to her rooms. "He's out there somewhere. He's not dead."

So now Merlin was lying awake, even though Gaius had returned and gone to bed an hour past; the older man's gentle snores filtered through Merlin's door as he thought hard about what might be off about Arthur's clothing. There had to be something; it had been niggling at Merlin since the moment he'd spotted them. If Arthur really was still alive, any clue he could suss out might help them find him.

The search party had found Arthur's belongings by the river. There was no sign of a struggle. The clothes were neatly folded… Merlin frowned. Arthur rarely folded his own clothes, but that didn't seem like enough to have captured Merlin's thoughts… His ring was sitting on top of the clothes—

His ring!

Merlin sat upright, his eyes wide in the dark. How could he have forgotten about the ring? Arthur had told Merlin once that it had belonged to his mother's father, and then his mother. He _never_ took it off, not to sleep, not even to bathe. Certainly not to swim, outdoors, where it would be out of his sight for even a moment.

Someone had to have taken that ring off Arthur by force. That was the only explanation for why he wouldn't be wearing it.

And if they'd taken it from him by force, Merlin thought, then there was every reason to believe that Arthur had never even gone near that river, that the clothing had been placed there as a ruse to turn any hunters aside from the real trail. Of course there was no sign of a struggle at the riverside; _Arthur had never been there._

Merlin threw his blankets off and jumped to his feet, before glancing out his window at the sky and stopping. It had to be past midnight, he realized. He couldn't exactly go tearing off into the forest to search for Arthur's trail at this hour, in the dark… but maybe there was something else he could do.

With a blink of his eyes, Merlin lit the candle by his bed, then bent over to pull his book of magic out from its hiding place. He'd been midway through a section on divination before Morgana had come in.

" _Scrying_ ," he read, running his finger slowly down the page.

* * *

 

"Gaius," he said the next morning, "I need a bowl of water."

"Yes, most people do when they're washing up in the morning," said Gaius mildly. "When you're done with that, I've run low on bee balm—"

"No, sorry, can't do that," said Merlin, grabbing the basin and pitcher and taking them to his room. "Got something more important."

"More importa—Merlin, what are you getting into now?" The physician had followed him up the stairs and was glaring at him in suspicion, his eyebrow climbing his forehead.

"Nothing! I haven't done a thing, Gaius. I'm just _about_ to do something to find Arthur."

Gaius glanced at the basin, then pressed his lips together. "Scrying," he said. "Merlin, what have I told you about doing anything foolish?"

"How is it foolish?" Merlin countered. "I'm just getting ready to wash up, like you said."

"If anyone were to come in…"

"They would see me staring into a bowl of water and I could tell them I was just sleepy and looking at my reflection. Or I could go out in the woods and do it there."

"And when did you learn to scry, hm? As far as I knew, this was not a skill you possessed."

"I read up on it last night."

"Merlin…"

"All right, so I've never done it before. There's a first time for everything, and this is important." When Gaius opened his mouth to protest again, Merlin cut him off. "Gaius. It's Arthur. It's been days now. People are starting to give up hope. I can't just sit here and do nothing."

The older man was quiet for a moment, then said quietly, "A bowl of water won't be enough."

Merlin grinned. "I know. The book said so. And aren't you always saying that I need to be careful of Arthur's hair and nail clippings, because people can use them in spells?"

"And how do you plan to collect those, hm?"

"I'll go up and clean Arthur's rooms," he said with a shrug. "It's been a couple of days, they'll have gotten dusty, and as his trusty servant, I don't want them to be in a state when he's found."

Gaius nodded thoughtfully. "If you were careful… but you mustn't be seen, you know that."

"What, cleaning Arthur's rooms? No one will look twice."

Gaius narrowed his eyes threateningly, but Merlin was already headed toward the door.

* * *

 

The answer to how much Arthur could endure was, unfortunately, "quite a lot". He strained under the burden of the yoke, with its buckets filled with stones, and tried not to reveal any of the pain he was in as he stumbled or staggered on whipped legs and feet. There were times, however, that he was almost grateful for the gag he wore, as it stifled soft cries and grunts and even the occasional whimper.

Arthur was fairly sure that he'd never been in such pain in his life. The only possible contender for what he was feeling now was the agony from the bite of the Questing Beast, and he'd been unconscious for most of that. Here, now, he was awake and enduring every moment, unable to demand even a pause to rest.

The slavers, as they'd done the night before, rode until past sunset. It was nearly too dark to see under the forest canopy once they finally did stop to make camp, and by that time, Arthur was swaying on his feet. The only reason he didn't drop to his knees then and there was because he refused to give his captors the satisfaction of seeing him brought low.

The men dismounted, and the merchant saw to their horses while the Saxon came and looked Arthur over with a critical eye. Arthur met his gaze warily, waiting for him to say something, but instead the other man only pursed his lips and shook his head, as if disappointed in something Arthur had done.

The only thing Arthur could think of that he'd done was refuse to be broken by his ordeal, and he wasn't going to feel upset over that, no matter how much it might mean he would suffer in future.

The Saxon unclipped Arthur's chain from the merchant's saddle and led him to one side of the clearing, between two slender trees growing close together. He pulled down on the chain until Arthur had to either drop to his knees or fall over, and he grunted as the extra weight of the stones he carried added to the impact against the ground. Even so, it was a relief to take that weight off his shoulders, even for a moment, and Arthur couldn't help but sag down until he was sitting on his heels, despite the pain that flared from the welts across the backs of his legs. He raised himself back up after only a few seconds, but not far enough to lift the buckets.

By then, the Saxon had already walked behind Arthur, who couldn't stop himself from growing tense at the possibility of another whipping. His arms ached from being bound up and out by the beam of the yoke all day, and his shoulders felt bruised from the weight he'd been forced to carry. If he was lucky, the Saxon would untie him and make him sit against one of these trees to sleep. If he was lucky, he'd get rid of the gag for the night and the Saxon would give him water.

He hated the way he could feel himself wanting to please the slavers in order for them to give him what he needed. _It's only the fatigue talking_ , he told himself. _Don't give in._ Wanting to please them, he knew, was the dangerous first step in being trained to slavery; from there, retaining Arthur's dignity and his spirit would be that much harder with every passing day, until they were gone completely and he forgot he had ever been a prince.

The Saxon, as always, seemed to know just what to do to break Arthur's spirit that little bit more. Instead of untying Arthur from the yoke, he bound the ends of the beam to the trees on either side of Arthur, so that he was stuck in a kneeling position, with his arms still held out to the sides, leaving his body completely open and unguarded to any blow they might want to land against him. Arthur swallowed in a dry throat and felt the ropes around his neck chafe against his Adam's apple. If he fell asleep, even for a second, he'd fall forward and choke himself against the yoke he wore. He'd be unable to push up and straighten out his legs, nor to drop down and rest in a sitting position. It would be a miracle if he fell asleep at all.

He wasn't sure he could really go two full nights without rest.

Finally, the Saxon came around to his front with a bucket from the slavers' supplies, and yanked Arthur's braies down again. He set the bucket in front of Arthur, the intention obvious. Arthur felt his face grow red, and he looked away while he took care of his business in the only way the slavers would allow.

So much for dignity.

* * *

 

The hours passed slowly. The slavers didn't bother with a fire that night, sharing dried rations instead, but they didn't take Arthur's gag off or offer him anything to eat or drink. When it came time to sleep, they took turns watching over the camp, but neither of them even spared Arthur a second glance; he dozed off more than once, despite the awkward position, but of course as soon as his head fell forward the ropes at his neck would tighten and he'd jerk awake again.

Once, his eyes fell shut and he thought he saw Morgana, standing on the other side of the camp and watching him with concern and growing horror in his eyes. Arthur tried to call her name, but all that came out was a hoarse, muffled little croak. The noise, such as it was, seemed to startle her, or else wake Arthur, because when he looked up again Morgana was gone.

It must have been a hallucination, Arthur figured, brought about by fatigue.

Arthur was barely even aware of it when morning finally came; he was slumped forward in the yoke, hurting and exhausted, desperately thirsty and lightheaded with hunger. He hadn't slept in two nights now, nor eaten in two or three days.

He wouldn't do it, he swore, wouldn't give them what they wanted; but it was so, so tempting to yield, just a little, just enough to get food and drink. And then he could fight them off even harder.

When the Saxon unwound Arthur's gag and held the water skin for him to drink, he didn't resist. He drank his fill, as much as he thought he could stomach, since he knew it was unlikely he'd be given any more for the day.

The Saxon smiled, and patted him on the head like a dog.

* * *

Getting into Arthur's room was easy enough, but to avoid suspicion, Merlin decided to actually clean the entire place while he was there. He emptied the ashes from the fireplace, dumped out the stale water from Arthur's wash basin, and collected the prince's dirty laundry. He did everything a good servant was supposed to do to prepare a room for his master's return.

He just… _also_ collected as many stray hairs from Arthur's dirty clothing, pillows, and comb as he could, folding them into a little square of paper so they wouldn't get lost, and tucking that into the bottom of his shoe. Nearly every version of the scrying spell that Merlin had read called for at least three hairs to be used, whether they were to be placed in the water or burned in a candle's flame, or even placed beneath a specially prepared crystal. Merlin didn't have a crystal, and staring at candle flames or pretty rocks seemed a little too obviously magical anyway, to Merlin's thinking at least. Of the three versions, the one least likely to draw attention or suspicion if he were caught was the one with the water bowl.

Morgana was convinced that Arthur was still alive. Merlin was prepared to cast the scrying spell as many times as necessary until he found proof that that was true. And of course, if Arthur was alive, Merlin wanted to be able to use the spell to _find_ him and bring him home.

Back in Gaius's chambers, Merlin shut and bolted the door, ignoring the look the physician gave him, then went to his room and shut and bolted that door, too. He filled the basin slowly, taking his time, focusing on the shape and flow of the water and clearing his mind. His book had stressed the importance of not letting any other thoughts, worries, or cares intrude on the mind; it was important to focus on the subject of the spell as much as possible before casting.

Merlin could almost hear Arthur making some snide comment about having an empty head. He smiled sadly, then took a deep breath and set that aside to think about later.

 _"Ameldian_ ", he whispered, dropping the three hairs into the water. " _Ameldian me Arthur Pendragon_."

Some scrying spells only worked on living subjects. Some required blood. Merlin had chosen this one because it would work with what he had available, and show him the subject, living or dead, that was connected to whatever he put in the water. With Arthur's hair, he should see Arthur's body, no matter where it was.

Hopefully, that body was still living.

Merlin shut his eyes and took a deep breath, before blowing gently across the surface of the water. " _Ameldian_ ," he whispered one final time, then felt the warmth as his magic flowed out of him and into the water. It permeated the water, caught on the hairs resting in the bottom of the bowl, and then reached, questing, pulling…

Connecting.

Merlin opened his eyes to see the water, unnaturally still, reflecting bright light that wasn't coming from Merlin's window. As he watched, the image darkened and cleared, showing him  dappled sunlight through leaves… a forest. He waited, holding his breath, and the view swooped like a flying bird, down through the trees, to show him the top of a blond head of hair. "Arthur," he whispered, then blinked, afraid he'd done something to break the connection.

As if he'd heard, Arthur looked up and around. There was rope wrapped several times around his neck like a macabre scarf, and beneath that, Merlin saw an iron collar with a chain. There were circles underneath Arthur's eyes as though he were ill, or hadn't slept; his lips were chapped and dry, and his face seemed pale under its usual golden tan. His expression was strained, but Merlin couldn't tell what might be causing it.

With a flicker of his will, Merlin pulled the image back to see more of Arthur. The prince was on his knees, wearing only his braies, and they were filthy and torn, with dirt and dried leaves stuck to them. Arthur's body, what he could see of it, was smeared with dried mud and scratches. The worst, though, was that his arms were bound straight out to his sides, tied to the beam of a water yoke across his shoulders at the upper arms and wrists. The yoke's buckets rested on the ground, but Merlin could see that they were filled with stones instead of water.

" _Ameldian me_ ," Merlin said, pulling back even further. He wanted to see the faces of the men who had dared to put Arthur in such a position. The book had said nothing about the spell expanding that far, but Merlin's magic was powerful and his will was focused. He felt the connection with Arthur strain to its limit, and poured more power into it.

Arthur knelt to the side of a forest clearing, and there were two horses tethered nearby. Two men were taking down a simple canopy; one was dressed as a hunter, and the other like a well-off city man, a merchant perhaps. The hunter had red hair and a thick beard with braids in it. Neither of them were looking at Arthur, but he seemed too exhausted to attempt to escape. He seemed too tired even for the hatred that Merlin knew he must be feeling toward his captors.

"I'll come for you, Arthur," he whispered. The image swooped in again, close to Arthur's face, and Arthur twitched as though he'd heard Merlin. Maybe he had. "Don't give up," Merlin added, just in case Arthur _could_ hear him.

The connection began to fragment then, as Merlin knew it eventually would, and before long Merlin found himself looking only at a full bowl of water. The hairs were gone, consumed by the magic Merlin had poured into them. Merlin blinked, taking a deep breath and coming back to himself, aware of his surroundings once more.

The spell was ended, but that was all right; he'd seen enough for the time being.

Enough to know Arthur was alive, and that he was in trouble… trouble he wouldn't be able to get out of on his own.

It was a good thing Merlin was used to getting Arthur out of trouble himself, then, wasn't it?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur collapses from exhaustion, and is nearly ready to give up fighting for his freedom.  
> Merlin prepares to go after Arthur, and is confronted by Uther.

Their third day of travel was even slower than the previous two; neither the Saxon nor the merchant seemed to care that they were not making good time, as Arthur staggered and stumbled under the weight of the yoke he bore. The buckets full of stones creaked and swung with every step, affecting Arthur's balance, and he was still in pain from his beating yesterday. The bells on his ankles struck an obnoxious counterpoint, chiming merrily as if to mock Arthur's misery, his pain, and his fatigue.

Had it really only been three days since he'd been stolen? Could a man be broken down that quickly? He'd already seen Morgana watching him in the dark, looking horrified; then this morning, he'd thought he'd heard Merlin, telling him not to give up. Was he going mad? Did something like that happen this easily, after only a few days of trial?

Arthur would have thought he'd hallucinate his father or his knights coming to rescue him, instead of his servant offering encouragement. When he thought of Uther, though, all Arthur got was the impression that the king would be displeased that Arthur hadn't managed to fight the slavers off on his own, or irritation that he'd been outside the palace without an escort. There was no doubt that Uther would send men to look for him, as the prince and future of the realm, but the idea of Uther as a father being worried about his son was laughable.

The sun was hot, he hadn't eaten in days, and had only had water that morning. It wasn't a surprise, then, when at some point in the afternoon, Arthur stumbled, lost his balance, and fell flat. He couldn't use his arms to break his fall, but by some miracle he managed not to knock himself unconscious or break his own nose.

Unfortunately, he also couldn't use his arms to push himself upright, and after a moment of struggle, just lay in the dirt, closing his eyes at the humiliation of it.

It was almost a good thing that he hadn't been rescued, Arthur thought; that way no one would ever have to see him like this.

God, he just wanted to sleep.

"Up," said the merchant. Arthur hadn't even heard him dismount or approach; had he lost consciousness for a moment? "We can't coddle you every time you fall over. Get up."

Arthur wriggled sideways and got one knee under him, and then the other; the beam of the yoke tipped and tilted across his shoulders as he moved. When he tried to stand, though, his legs felt like water, and he couldn't get his weight under him properly to lift the buckets full of stones. He staggered sideways and fell again, wincing at the pain in his knees as he hit the forest floor.

The Saxon said something in his own tongue, but whatever it was didn't seem to move the merchant; he huffed in obvious annoyance and walked over to a tree, cutting a switch and stripping it of leaves. He turned back to Arthur. "Get up," he said again, "or you'll feel this."

Arthur put his head down, gritted his teeth, and tried again, but it seemed that he'd reached the limit of his endurance at long last. Two nights without sleep, three days without food, and an impossible burden to carry were too much for him. His legs trembled with the effort to stand, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't do it.

Finally, Arthur dropped back to his knees, panting, knowing the slaver would beat him anyway. He probably would have whipped Arthur even if Arthur had managed to stand, for not walking fast enough or some other such nonsense.

Sure enough, he heard the merchant say, "Gag him if he makes too much noise," before the switch whistled through the air to land across his already abused back. Arthur cried out involuntarily, not wanting to give his captors the satisfaction, but unable to help it as the pain and heat blossomed across his shoulders. He couldn't endure this, he couldn't, he couldn't, he was just too tired and it was too much…

"Enough," said the Saxon, before Arthur counted even six blows. He was swaying, his vision blurring and dark around the edges, and tears were standing in his eyes. The beating stopped, though, and Arthur took deep breaths, willing himself not to pass out from pain and exhaustion.

The Saxon climbed down out of the saddle, walked right up to Arthur, and lifted his chin to study his face. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he nodded and said, "Little bear tame enough."

Arthur was too tired to jerk his chin out of the man's grasp. He could only wait, on his knees, as the Saxon kicked over the buckets of Arthur's yoke and let the stones fall out, then began unwinding the rope from around Arthur's neck.

"Little bear smarter now, hn? Not going to run." He didn't seem to want an answer, proceeding to untie Arthur's arms from the beam of the yoke. Arthur's right arm fell to his lap, then the left, and he shut his eyes in relief as the blood began to return to his hands and his shoulders were able to relax. Arthur flexed his fingers slowly, stiff and aching as they were, and rotated his wrists.

The Saxon took one of the loose ropes and tied Arthur's hands together, but this time, mercifully, he left them in front of Arthur's body. Arthur had never realized just how much he relied on his arms for balance for even the simplest of things. The Saxon wrapped the tail of the rope around Arthur's waist, so that his hands were pinned in place and he wouldn't be able to bring them up to work the knots with his teeth.

Even with all that, he almost thanked the man when he brought out his water skin and gave Arthur water.

God, he really was almost broken, after only a few days. He took a deep breath, fighting to remember who he was. Prince of Camelot. Heir to the throne. Uther Pendragon's son. A Pendragon never gave up.

But oh, how Arthur wanted to.

* * *

 

Less than a half hour after scrying Arthur, after getting proof that he lived, Merlin was in Arthur's chambers and packing his things. Arthur was going to need a fresh outfit, obviously, since his other clothes had been left by the river; his shaving kit, Arthur would want that; boots, where were his second-best boots, the ones he wore for comfort rather than appearance? After being stuck barefoot for so long, he'd want something easy on his feet… and socks, Merlin needed to remember to pack several good pairs of socks.

He was busy enough, rummaging through Arthur's wardrobe, that he didn't hear the door to Arthur's chambers open until Uther's voice made him jump half out of his skin.

"What are you doing?"

"My lord!" Merlin spun and bowed, trying not to knock his elbow on the wardrobe door. _You startled me_ , he almost said, before remembering that Uther didn't take kindly to excess talking from servants. He glanced up, then did a double-take and nearly stared, before remembering to put his gaze back on the floor: Uther looked terrible, as if he hadn't slept these past few nights, or even as if he'd been weeping. His face was haggard, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

"What are you doing with my son's belongings?" demanded Uther. His voice might be a touch hoarse, but it still carried all the authority of he king. "Do you dare to _steal_ from him?"

"What? No!" Merlin looked up then, incredulity as always making him forget his place. Arthur always did say he was as bold and insolent as a jay bird when he wanted to be. "I would never!" he exclaimed, looking the king dead in the eye.

Uther seemed annoyed, but no more appalled by Merlin than usual. "Explain yourself, then, before I have you thrown in the dungeons."

"I'm _packing_ , my lord, to go and find Arthur. He's going to need supplies…" He nodded over at the satchels resting on Arthur's bed, then held up the bundle of socks he was holding. Hopefully Uther would realize that not even the most desperate thief would be interested in stealing the prince's royal socks.

The king's expression was dubious, but he did follow Merlin's gaze, then walk over to the bed to poke listlessly through Arthur's bags. "No one has seen a sign of my son in days," he said. "They think he's d—" He clamped his mouth shut and looked away. "What gives you cause to believe differently?"

Merlin certainly hadn't been expecting to encounter the king while he packed, but this was even more of a surprise. Could Uther actually be looking for encouragement, or hope… from Merlin? "It was his ring that made me realize, my lord," he said diffidently. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. "Arthur told me once that this ring belonged to his mother?"

The king froze, his eyes locked on the ring, expression unreadable. "Yes," he breathed.

"Well, it's only… he never took it off, my lord. Not to sleep, not even to bathe. I've polished his other jewelry before, for court occasions, but he's never let me touch this one. And I didn't realize what was wrong about it at first, but there it was, just sitting on top of his clothing by the river bank when we found his things. He _never_ took off this ring, not for anything. It didn't—it _doesn't_ —make sense to me that he would change his mind and just leave it with his clothes while he went swimming. And in a flooded river? It just… it's not like him, my lord."

Uther frowned and approached; Merlin bowed a little lower, and held the ring out for the king to take. There was a part of him that hated to give it up, but he didn't really want to give Uther cause to accuse him of stealing again, either.

Merlin looked up beneath his lashes to see the king studying the ring with a troubled expression on his face. "You believe the prince's things were left by the river as a ruse," he said finally. "A false trail."

"I do, my lord."

"Have you any proof of this?"

"Not yet," said Merlin, which wasn't entirely the truth, but he couldn't exactly tell Uther that he'd been using sorcery to locate his son. "But the search parties had found the trail that led _to_ the river. I had hoped to try and follow that trail in the opposite direction, see if it led anywhere interesting. It's clear to me by now that Arth—that His Highness—isn't downstream from where we found his things." Actually, Merlin had planned on asking Sir Leon or one of the other knights to help him track that far, since he wasn't much use in the woods. After that, he was hoping that magic could make up the difference and help him follow whatever trail they found.

"It's clear to you," said Uther, looking down his nose at Merlin. "You're a servant."

Merlin took a deep breath. "It's true, my lord, that I'm no knight, or hunter, or much of a tracker… but I'm no fool, either." Uther frowned, and Merlin went on quickly, "Or maybe I'm just stubborn. I know that everyone else is starting to give up hope, but I'm just… not ready to do that, just yet."

Uther was silent for a long moment, and Merlin could feel the back of his neck beginning to prickle. He looked down at the floor, not daring to meet the king's eyes.

"You've served him faithfully," the king said finally. "I appointed you to his service after you saved his life."

Merlin shrugged uncomfortably. "I just did what anyone would do."

"No," said the king, "you didn't." Merlin hazarded a glance up. "And you drank poison for him, not long after." Merlin resisted the urge to squirm; it wasn't as though the king had given him much of a choice in that scenario. "What makes you think you will find anything, when my knights have not?"

"Well, I'd start by looking in places they haven't yet," he replied, then winced internally; had that come off as too insolent? "But also… forgive me for saying so, my lord, but sometimes, the people are afraid to talk to the guard and the knights about what they've seen. They fear punishment. Someone like me, though… well, everyone knows I'm pretty harmless. I can ask questions of just about anybody, and maybe get answers that the knights couldn't."

"You think the people are hiding what they know from my knights?" Uther glowered, and Merlin winced again; of course that was what the king would take from their conversation.

"I don't _know_ that, my lord, but it makes sense that people would be afraid. They're worried for the prince, too, I have no doubt. They love him! But I think they might be afraid to be implicated in His Highness's disappearance, if they seemed to know too much about it." Uther's frown deepened, and Merlin added, "Fear makes people do foolish things, my lord."

Uther turned away, and Merlin let himself breathe again, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"You believe you will find my son," said the king in a hushed voice.

Merlin knew he would, or would die trying, but he couldn't exactly say how he could be so sure. "I only know that I have to try, my lord," he said, just as quietly.

"You don't actually have a mental affliction, do you." It wasn't a question.

"Stubbornness, perhaps?" Merlin hazarded a smile, but when the king didn't return it, he sobered. "I wasn't raised in the palace, my lord. Wasn't raised to service. I make mistakes, I know that. Things that are obvious to everyone else aren't to me, because I never grew up around… all this. But no, I like to think I'm not the idiot everyone assumes I am."

There was another long silence, and then Uther nodded. "Very well," he said. "You may attempt to find him." Merlin bit his tongue; as far as he was concerned, he hadn't at all been asking for Uther's permission to go. The king must have read some of that thought on his face, though, because he narrowed his eyes and went on, "How long do you think you will search?"

"Until he is found, my lord," he replied immediately, then remembered Morgana's vision about the ship. "It's been three days; he could be… very far away, by now. I don't know how long it will take to find him, but I don't intend to return without him."

"See that you don't," said Uther, and Merlin understood his meaning perfectly. Merlin wasn't a knight or a noble; loyal or not, as a servant, he was expendable, and would not be rewarded or welcome if he failed in his search. Even Gaius would not be likely to sway the king on this matter; if Arthur wasn't found, the physician would simply have to find another apprentice, whether he liked it or not. "When do you leave?"

Merlin glanced over at Arthur's satchels and thought for a moment. "His Highness's things are almost ready," he said. "I still have to put together my own, and then ready the horses…" He bit his lip. "It's already after noon; I won't be likely to get far on the road today, but I'd hoped to at least use the daylight to search the woods near the river with Sir Leon. I might leave immediately after that, or wait until morning, depending on how long it takes to find anything there."

Uther nodded decisively. "Very well," he said again. "I am sure I don't need to tell you to be thorough in your preparations. You may need a seal of authority: royal permission to act as you will on your quest. And funds, no doubt. I will send someone to Gaius's chambers with what you need."

Merlin blinked, not having expected any sort of support from Uther, especially after his warning not to come back. "Thank you, my lord."

"He is my son," Uther began, then stopped. He turned away, blinking, but for just a moment, Merlin was able to see beneath the mask of kingly dignity that Uther always wore. A terrifying king Uther might be, but he was also a father who loved his son as best he could, with the remains of his shattered heart. Merlin might not like the man, but he could at least respect the love he held for Arthur.

"I won't fail him, my lord," he said sincerely.

Uther seemed to ignore that, but Merlin knew better. He'd seen the same behavior from Arthur often enough, after all. "Do not waste any more time," said the king. "You have until dawn tomorrow to begin your quest."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Leon search for Arthur's trail and find an interesting clue; Merlin prepares to leave Camelot, and shares one final meal with Gaius.

Sir Leon gave Merlin funny looks when they rode out that afternoon, but Merlin couldn't bring himself to worry about what the knight might be thinking. He actually had the king's blessing to search for Arthur, and that was all that mattered to him.

Still, Leon was a good man. No doubt he was simply confused to have been assigned to follow Merlin, instead of the other way around.

"Are we getting close?" asked Merlin, to break the awkward silence. He hoped they were; truth be told, he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to hold himself back from using magic to find Arthur's trail, so the sooner Leon could point him in the right direction, the better.

"It's just up ahead," said Leon, giving him another strange look. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head and closed his mouth.

 _All right, then_ , thought Merlin. "Is something wrong?"

"No," said Leon. "It's only… you're really sure that His Highness is alive?"

"Well, we need proof, naturally," said Merlin, "but yeah, I'm almost positive." He explained about Arthur's ring, the one he never took off. "I know it's not much to go on, but I _know_ Arthur. Maybe better than you knights do, at least where some things are concerned. I just can't believe he was ever really at that river. We have to follow that trail backwards, instead of looking downstream. Because I don't think he drowned, I think he was taken, and whoever took him—"

"—left the clothes at the river as part of a false trail," Leon finished. He nodded thoughtfully, then said, "In a way, I hope you're right, because it would mean His Highness is still alive. But in another, I hope you're wrong, because if that really was a false trail, it would mean that we all fell for it."

"Well, if someone did want to kidnap the prince, they'd have to figure there would be search parties and all the rest of it. They probably planned their attack pretty carefully." Merlin still wasn't sure who had taken Arthur, or why, but he would do his best to find out before he and Arthur returned. It would be pointless to rescue the prince only to have him taken again a month later by the same people.

And if Merlin had to kill someone to make sure it never happened again… well, he hoped it wouldn't be necessary, but if it meant protecting Arthur, he'd do it. He'd already killed for Arthur, more than once in fact, and he knew already that he'd probably be required to do it again. Even if killing never got any easier.

"Are you really going to leave Camelot and search for Arthur by yourself?" asked Leon. Merlin looked at him, frowning. Leon shrugged sheepishly. "The king mentioned something when he sent me to find you."

"I'm Arthur's manservant," said Merlin with a shrug of his own. "If I'm not serving him… well, I mean, I suppose I could stay on as Gaius's apprentice, but he'd be the first to tell you I'm not much of a physician. It just seems simple to me, I guess. I go where Arthur goes."

"Yes, but to go alone… aren't you worried for your own safety?"

"Nah," said Merlin, which was entirely the truth, even if he didn't dare to explain why. If anything, he'd be safer on the road than he'd ever been in the castle. "Arthur's told me more than once I'm barely worth the fun of bullying," he said with a smile. "A peasant on their way from one place to another, not much in the way of belongings… no one's going to bother with me."

"I hope you're right," was all Leon said.

* * *

 

They reached the riverbank not long after, and Merlin shivered a little to see the boulder where Arthur's things had been found. It looked so innocuous now.

"The trail came from over here," said Leon, dismounting to get a better look at the ground. Merlin followed suit, gathering his horse's reins in one hand. "It leads back toward the city."

"Can you still follow it? It's been a few days. Are there still any marks?"

Leon knelt down and ran his hand across the ground. "Yes, there are footprints here. Faint, and muddled from our search, but if we go back a little ways that should clear up."

"All right," said Merlin. He let Leon take the lead, scouring the undergrowth for signs and tracks. It wasn't long before Leon looked up, a satisfied expression on his face.

"Here is where we picked up the trail ourselves," said the knight. "We came from that direction, but the original trail goes this way."

"Will it be hard to follow?"

"No," Leon replied, with a little frown. "It's quite clear. And… hm. Look at this."

Merlin stepped forward and bent closer, to where Leon was kneeling to lift a few dead leaves out of the way. "A bare footprint," Merlin said. "Not many people go barefoot out here."

"His Highness's boots were found by the river, too," Leon reminded him, but Merlin was already nodding.

"Are there other tracks?"

"I make two men, besides this one," said Leon. "One of them quite large. Let's see if we can find anything more."

They stood, and this time Merlin took the lead, keeping himself and the horses to one side of the trail they followed as best he could; with his back to Leon, he let his magic out, just a little, to see if he could track these bare footprints. Sure enough, a trail began to glow before him, one step after another leading back toward Camelot through the woods. Merlin quickly pulled his magic back, fearful that Leon had spotted the glow, but the other man gave no indication that he'd seen anything out of the ordinary. Maybe the glow was only visible to Merlin, but that wasn't something he was going to risk beheading to test.

He followed the steps he remembered, looking at each one as he passed it.

"You're better at this than I thought," said Leon. Merlin turned, surprised to see the knight several yards behind him.

"Just lucky, I guess," said Merlin. "But here—what am I looking at here?"

Leon approached and squatted down, examining the ground where Merlin indicated. "Knee prints, if I had to guess," he said. "Someone fell here. And look here, you can see by the way these footprints are so close together, our barefoot man was stumbling or having a hard time walking."

"Do you think that counts as 'signs of a struggle'?" Merlin asked.

"Not yet," said Leon. "Not by itself. But we'll keep an eye out for more of that sort of thing."

They continued on, either Leon or Merlin pointing out prints here and there as they spotted them, until they came to a clearing Merlin recognized.

"Arthur likes to come here to think," he said, tying the horses' reins to a tree along one side of the clearing. "I've only been once or twice, but he's told me about it."

Leon nodded, searching the path that led back to the castle. "The barefoot prints come out of the clearing along the trail we just followed, but there are none coming in. If I had to guess, I'd say this was where His Highness lost his boots."

Merlin didn't say anything, but waited until Leon's back was turned before he closed his eyes and focused; when he opened them again, he could feel the heat of his magic enhancing his vision. Colors were brighter and the edges of things seemed sharper… and catching his eye, there was a bright glint of metal, over near the fallen log where Arthur often sat.

He blinked the magic away and crossed the clearing, not taking his eyes off the shine until he was able to kneel down and touch it. "Leon?" he called. "What's this?"

He lifted it up for the knight to see; it looked somewhat like a combat arrow, except that it was barely the length of Merlin's hand, and much fatter at the fletched end than at the tip. Instead of an arrowhead, the metal glint Merlin had seen looked more like a heavy needle.

"A blow dart," said Leon. "We don't really use them much here in Camelot; some people like them for hunting small game."

"What would one be doing here, then? And how would you bring down game with something so tiny?"

"You poison the tip, of course," said Leon soberly. "That would explain why I still haven't seen any real signs of a struggle."

Merlin took a deep breath. "They would have snuck up on Arthur and just shot him with this… he'd collapse, and they'd have him. All they would need to do is wait for it to wear off, and while they waited, they could take his clothes and do anything else they wanted."

He and Leon shared a look, each thinking of what kind of "anything else" could have happened to the prince.

"If there is still any poison on it, Gaius might be able to identify it," said Merlin, trying to take his mind off the grim possibilities.

"There should be," said Leon. "The tips on these things are often hollow. All right, then." Leon blew out a breath and clapped Merlin on the shoulder. "Well spotted, Merlin. We might make a hunter out of you yet."

Merlin grinned. "I really doubt it. The sun just happened to catch on the tip there, and I just happened to be in the right place to spot it."

"Well, I hope you have luck like that for the rest of your search."

Merlin thought of his magic, and couldn't help but smile just a little wider. "Me, too."

* * *

 

Gaius was well pleased with their find, when Leon and Merlin presented it to him later that afternoon.

"It will take me perhaps a few days to narrow down what sort of poison was used," he said, already examining the tip, "but if we needed proof that His Highness wasn't drowned in the river, this is it," he said.

"A few days?" asked Leon.

"The tests that I will attempt require time to complete, I'm afraid," the physician explained, with a resigned shake of his head. "If I could make them go faster, I would."

Leon nodded then, and left to give his report to the king. Merlin watched him go, and then made for the stairs that led up to his tiny room.

"And what are you doing?" asked Gaius.

"Packing," he replied, one foot on the step. "This is probably the last night I'll sleep here for a while. I want to be up before dawn tomorrow, get an early start on the road."

"You're really convinced that you'll be able to follow Arthur? I don't mean to discourage you, my boy, but it's been days; he could be anywhere."

"I know," said Merlin. "But I was the one to find that dart, and I also was able to follow Arthur's trail in the mud. The footprints seemed to _glow_ ," he added, lowering his voice and coming back down the stairs. "I bet I could follow them even in the dark, and catch up to Arthur that way."

"As long as you don't give yourself away," Gaius warned. "Flinging magic about, every-which-way and willy-nilly."

"I'll be careful." And he would, too; not for himself, but for Arthur's sake. If Merlin were caught using magic, there would be no one else to go after his prince.

"See that you are."

* * *

 

Merlin didn't have much in the way of belongings, so it really wasn't difficult to pull everything together and stuff it into his satchel. After a moment's deliberation, he went ahead and pulled his magic book out from under the bed, just in case he needed it while he was gone. It wasn't the largest book he'd seen in the castle, but Merlin sometimes wondered if it didn't have some sort of enchantment on its pages. The book very often seemed to have exactly the information Merlin needed when he went searching for it… and he'd searched for some pretty strange things in his time in Camelot.

He wouldn't have that damned dragon to depend on for advice, after all.

On a whim, Merlin sat on the edge of his bed and opened the grimoire, flipping through the pages and thinking of Arthur. Morgana had seen the prince on a ship, which meant he was probably headed for the coast. Merlin needed to find him before that ship sailed if possible. If he was too late, he needed some way to find Arthur that didn't rely on footprints. He'd already learned to scry to see what Arthur was doing at any given moment, but he didn't have anything yet that showed where Arthur actually was, or the shortest way to get there.

The book's pages tingled under Merlin's fingertips, then fell open to a page with text in two columns. At the top, in red, were the words, " _Seekynge and Fyndynge That Whych Is Lost_ ".

Merlin smiled.

* * *

 

The smell of food pulled him out of his studies some time later, and Merlin stretched, realizing he was famished. He tucked the book into his satchel, burying it deep under his other things, then looked around his room. It seemed a bare and sad little space, without his belongings cluttering up everything. Even so, it had been his home for over a year, now, and Merlin wondered if he would ever see it again.

He shook the thought off firmly as he set the satchel on the floor by his little table. He _would_ find Arthur; there was no other option. He'd do everything in his power, and even the damned dragon thought his power was considerable. If Arthur was being held prisoner somewhere, Merlin would free him. He'd free him, and he'd bring him safely home, no matter what it took.

"Ah, there you are," Gaius said as he came down the stairs. "Get the plates, would you? We've a special treat tonight."

"It smells good," said Merlin. "What did you make?"

"You're going on a long journey," replied the old man. "I made your favorite… and the Lady Morgana sent for something from the kitchens, too."

"That's a surprise." Merlin began setting the table, two plates, two bowls, two cups, two spoons. Hm. He'd have to make sure to pack his set after he washed them tonight. "Nice of her, though."

Morgana's thoughtfulness provided them both with roast quail and potatoes, to go with the barley and vegetable stew Gaius had made, and soft bread of the sort Merlin rarely got to sample, even when he was filching bites from Arthur's meals. To finish, Gaius pulled a ginger-and-honey cake from the hearth, where he'd been keeping it warm. "You'd better eat it all," he said in mock severity. "I went to a lot of trouble to bake it in the coals for you."

Merlin laughed. "That won't be a problem, Gaius." The gesture warmed his heart, and he ducked his head as he ate so that he wouldn't embarrass himself. The cake was delicious, sticky with honey, and Merlin licked his fingers as he finished the last bite. "You didn't have any of your half," he noticed, frowning.

Gaius simply waved that off. "I don't need sweets, at my age. Let's wrap it, and you can take it with you on your journey."

He couldn't help the smile that welled up, from the bottom of his heart. "I'm going to miss you, Gaius."

"Nonsense," Gaius replied, though he wouldn't look at Merlin and busied himself wrapping the cake in waxed paper. "You and Arthur will be back before you even have time to miss me."

"I hope you're right."

"Trust an old man, Merlin. I've a good feeling about this quest of yours."

Thanks, Gaius. For everything."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin receives gifts from various people, and says farewell to Camelot.  
> Arthur is brought to the coastline, where a ship is waiting.

Merlin woke up more than once through the night, anxiously checking the light from his window every time he rolled over to see if it was time for him to be on the road. Finally, the sky began to grow light, so Merlin dressed, rolled his blanket into a bedroll, and strapped it to his satchel. He swung the strap of the satchel over his shoulder, then gathered his and Arthur's bags and stood to leave. His room, the castle, the city, maybe the kingdom: Merlin had no idea when he would see them again.

To his surprise, Gaius was already awake and waiting for him. "You didn't think you'd be able to sneak past me, did you?" he asked with a smile. He held up two full water skins before tucking them in among the bags Merlin carried, then lifted another satchel and showed it to Merlin. "I've also packed plenty of balms and ointments, and food for you, if you're not able to stay in inns on the road."

"I can't afford to stay in inns," Merlin said with a shake of his head.

"Yes, you can." Gaius reached over to the table and picked up a leather pouch that Merlin hadn't seen before, then picked up Merlin's hand and dropped the pouch into it. Merlin heard the clink of coins and felt enough weight to suggest he could stay in inns for at least a few nights if the weather turned foul.

"Gaius, what—?"

"We don't know how long you'll be gone," the physician explained. "And I am paid more than I really need for my services to the king. I would likely never have spent that, and will probably have it all back in a couple of months."

"Gaius, I can't take this!"

"You can and you will." Gaius raised his eyebrow and fixed Merlin with a gimlet stare. "When you find Arthur, he may need somewhere to recover before he can return to Camelot. This will ensure that the two of you won't be sleeping in a cave, at least."

There was no way to argue with that logic; Merlin nodded soberly, and juggled the bags he carried until he could tuck the purse in with his other belongings. "Thank you."

"The king also sent a messenger last night, after you went to bed," said Gaius. "He ordered me to give you this." Gaius picked up a belt-purse and shook it lightly; Merlin heard more coin shift, and his eyes widened, wondering just how much money he was going to have on him as he traveled. He had a sneaking suspicion it would be more cash in one place than he'd ever seen in his life. He set Arthur's bags down on the bench so he could take a better look.

Cautiously, he opened the purse, and saw two smaller cloth pouches inside, along with a folded piece of parchment. The first little bag was full of silver—a lot of silver—and the second made him boggle at the glint of gold when he opened it. He pulled one piece out to show to Gaius. That single coin was worth at least a hundred of the silver pennies Merlin usually dealt with, and there had to be a couple dozen of them in the pouch. Forget sleeping in inns; Merlin could purchase a new horse, a sword, _and_ passage on a ship if he needed to, and still have coin left over for food and supplies.

"It would seem Uther is placing his faith in you to return his son," said Gaius. Merlin swallowed and nodded, putting the coin back and lifting out the piece of parchment.

He read it, and frowned. "It's a 'letter of marque'," he said, "whatever that means."

Now it was Gaius's turn to look surprised, as he took it from Merlin's hands. "This bears Uther's seal," he said. "It is in essence proof that you have Uther's permission to do what you must on your journey. It's not a preemptive pardon—you won't be automatically immune from punishment, or pardoned for committing any crimes, that sort of thing—but it should grant you safe passage through any of the kingdoms with which Camelot has treaties." He glanced up at Merlin as he folded the letter. "I'd still avoid Cornwall, if I were you, or at least avoid trouble if you must travel there. King Odin would be unlikely to honor this, though he would at least possibly hold you for ransom rather than killing you outright for trespassing in his kingdom."

Merlin blew out a breath and tucked the letter back into his new purse. "Let's hope Arthur's trail takes me elsewhere, then," he said, gathering the rest of the bags from the bench.

Gaius smiled and patted him on the arm. "Come, my boy. Let me walk you to the stables."

* * *

 

Merlin was assisting the stable boy with attaching the various bags to the saddle when he heard light footsteps behind him. He turned to see Gwen standing in the entryway, smiling at him shyly.

"Gwen! You're up early." Merlin handed the last of the bags to the stable boy and came over to give Gwen a hug. "Is Lady Morgana sending you on an errand?"

"No. Or, well, yes, but not really. I mean, we wanted to say goodbye, and good luck. And give you gifts! Well, not _gifts_ , not like _tokens_ , but things we thought you might be able to use on your journey."

"You didn't have to do that," said Merlin, smiling a little helplessly. Gwen really was the best.

"Of course we did, don't be silly! Here, come see."

There were bags of feed stacked near the stable entrance, and resting on them was a sword and scabbard, plain but serviceable, the sort of thing a peasant like Merlin could carry without drawing suspicion. He drew it, and the predawn light gleamed on a well-oiled and sharpened blade.

"Oh. Oh, Gwen, I can't take this." He looked up at her, gaping. "I mean… I mean it's nicer than anything I _own_ , I can't—and I'm a rubbish fighter anyway—"

"It's from my father's forge," said Gwen softly, and Merlin shut his mouth with a snap. "I know you're not a knight or anything, but you should have something anyway, to protect yourself with on the road. And it's not a full-size sword, like what Arthur is always trying to get you to use. It's lighter, faster; Morgana's sword is a lot like it, actually. It's built for speed rather than brute force. I thought it might help. And maybe once you return, you can convince Arthur to let you train with it instead of the heavier blades. I think it would suit you better."

"Gwen, this is…" He trailed off unable to find the words.

"Oh, just shut up and say thank you," she said, flinging her arms around him in a tight hug. Merlin squeezed back and shut his eyes.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm going to miss you."

"You'll just have to return quickly, then, you and Arthur, so you don't have time to miss us." Gwen reached into her pocket and pulled out yet another purse. "This is from Morgana."

"Gwen…"

"Just take it!"

"I would, really, it's just—" Merlin lowered his voice and leaned in close. "Uther already gave me more money than I've ever seen in my entire life. I don't know if I feel right taking even more."

"There's not just money in there," said Gwen. "And you know Morgana would be cross with you if you accepted His Majesty's gift but not hers."

Merlin grimaced. Like it or not, that was all too true. "All right, then," he said, and walked back with Gwen beside him, to tuck it into his saddle bag. He'd have to put all his newfound wealth somewhere safe, and maybe put a concealing charm over it so he wouldn't be robbed, his first night out of the city. "Is there anything else you're waiting to surprise me with?"

Gwen grinned. "Only this, from Morgana," she said, and hugged and kissed him on the cheek. Then, while Merlin was already blinking in surprise and blushing, she added, "And this, from me," and squeezed him even tighter before kissing him on the other cheek.

"Thanks, Gwen. And tell Morgana thanks from me, too."

"Of course." She stepped back, blinking hard. "Be safe, Merlin. Camelot won't be the same with you gone."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he replied. His own eyes began to sting a bit, so he nodded at her, still smiling, then turned away.

The stable boy handed him the reins, and Merlin led his horse out into the courtyard and climbed into the saddle. Gaius was still there, and he and Gwen came close for one last goodbye, Gwen clutching her elbows tightly and smiling through tears. Gaius patted Merlin on the knee. "Be safe and be swift, my boy," he said.

"I will."

"Bye, Merlin."

"I'll see you soon, Gwen."

With a deep breath, Merlin gave them both one last nod, then turned his horse toward the gate and began his journey.

* * *

 

The rest of Arthur's walk that day was much the same as before; he was no longer burdened by the yoke, nor was he forced to wear the gag, but he was still lightheaded from hunger, fatigue, and pain. Still captive. Still wearing a collar and a leash.

Arthur barely had the energy to put one foot in front of the other, never mind track where they were going or how far from Camelot they must have traveled. The slavers kept to forest paths rather than roads, for the most part, and after a while the scenery all began to look the same to him. They were far enough from his usual hunting grounds now that he didn't recognize any landmarks.

It was disheartening to realize that he might not be able to find his way home now, even if he were to somehow get away from his captors.

On and on they walked, until night began to fall, and true to their form the past few days, they kept going until Arthur thought it must surely be too dark to see to make camp. The slavers traveled light, it was true, but it would have been easier to find a clearing to stretch their tarp before the sun went down.

Perhaps if Arthur hadn't been so exhausted, he would have realized why they were pressing on tonight. He might have noticed the smell in the air and understood what it meant, before the forest ended and they arrived at the coast.

Salt.

Arthur had been smelling it for the past couple of miles at least, he realized now, but he'd simply been too fatigued to recognize that they were approaching the ocean. As it was, it took him far too long to understand that reaching the coastline meant that there was no further they could take him, unless…

Unless… Arthur's eyes widened as dread sank deep into his stomach.

He looked, praying he was wrong, but there it was, a ship, anchored a little ways out from the beach, with smaller boats pulled up onto the shore and a small camp of men surrounding them. It was growing dark, but the moon was high, and the light was enough to see that the men were making ready to leave, packing their things and stowing them in the dinghies.

Arthur hadn't even realized he'd stopped dead in his tracks, until the Saxon yanked on his chain and forced him forward, the bells on Arthur's ankles announcing their presence to the entire camp.

It had been bad enough being taken by two men, when there had been no one to see him like this. Now, though, the humiliation was unbearable, and Arthur tugged back against his collar, feeling the metal bite into the back of his neck and not caring whether it made him bleed or not. He would not go down that path of his own volition. He would _not_ allow himself to be put on a ship and taken away from Albion forever.

The Saxon yanked on the chain harder, and Arthur grunted as he stumbled forward. Then he dug his heels in and shoved himself backward, straining to free his arms from the ropes that pinned his wrists to his waist.

He almost got the Saxon to drop the chain, too, except that the merchant had gotten behind Arthur without him noticing, and whipped him across the back with his switch. The searing agony made Arthur jump and cry out, and the Saxon pulled him forward another few steps.

"No," Arthur growled. They could gag him later for speaking, he wouldn't care, he was no fucking _sheep_ to be led docilely to his death far from home. "No!"

The Saxon called out something in his native tongue, and two men broke free of the encampment and came up the path toward him. They laughed to see Arthur bound and struggling, exhausted, filthy, whipped like a dog, wearing bells on his ankles like some kind of livestock.

They approached without fear, and one of them punched Arthur in the kidney. He dropped to his knees, scarcely able to breathe from the pain, then the men simply picked him up and began to carry him down toward the shore. Arthur kicked with all his might, but he was weak from hunger and exhaustion, and no matter how he bucked and writhed, the men kept hold of him. Behind him, Arthur heard the Saxon say something else, warning in his tone.

Arthur fought harder, but still was unable to break free. The bells on his ankles clanged wildly, and the men holding him laughed. One of them shouted down into the camp, and Arthur heard a cheer go up. Suddenly he was surrounded by men jeering, laughing, pinching and poking at him, grabbing at his ankles and pulling his hair. Arthur couldn't help it, he sobbed in terror and anger and despair, fought harder, writhed till his muscles hurt. They dropped his legs, and he managed to kick one of the men hard enough in the groin that he doubled over retching. Arthur twisted, but the voices of the mob turned from laughing to rage in an instant, and suddenly there were fists coming at him from all sides, and Arthur was helpless to prevent the blows to his face, his ribs, his head… finally, a solid hit to his temple rattled him badly enough that he went limp, stunned and dizzy, and when he dropped to the sand no one bothered to hold him up. In the distance, beyond the ringing in his ears, Arthur heard the Saxon—the first Saxon, he supposed—shout something at the men. Whatever he'd said, it broke up the crowd, and they left him lying on the beach, spitting out sand and panting for breath. Only one man remained nearby, and he was deliberately standing on the chain connected to Arthur's collar, so that Arthur couldn't get up even if he'd had the strength.

Arthur looked up long enough to see the Saxon and the merchant standing by one of the fires; the Saxon was handing a coin purse to the merchant, who looked over at Arthur and bowed mockingly before turning and leaving the way they'd come.

(Arthur felt a moment's confusion, before dismissing it as irrelevant. Between the two slavers, he'd thought the merchant had been the man in charge.)

Finally, the Saxon came over and looked at Arthur where he lay in the sand. "Little bear," he said, shaking his head as if disappointed. Then, "Björnungur," he called, and the men around Arthur laughed. He gestured, and they picked Arthur up again, and carried him bodily over to the nearest dinghy. This time, Arthur was too exhausted to fight back. He twisted and bucked once or twice, but he knew even then that it was useless. He was being taken from Albion, and would never see his home again.

They dropped him without ceremony into the bottom of the boat like a landed fish. Arthur's head bounced hard off the gunwale, and he went boneless, his vision tunneling to black.

Just before he passed out, he thought he heard Morgana scream.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wakes up aboard the ship; Merlin learns what Morgana has given him, and finds the slavers' first campsite.

A throbbing ache in Arthur's temple brought him slowly back to awareness. Pain, nausea, a dry mouth; this was worse than the worst hangover he could ever remember having, and for a while he was content to keep his eyes closed and try simply to recover his wits. He didn't remember what he'd been doing to earn such a headache, and he wasn't sure where he was that his bed was so uncomfortable, but it was still better than opening his eyes and dealing with the discomfort that would come with that. Everything seemed to be moving, heaving and dropping away from him, and the sensation did nothing to help Arthur's nausea. He swallowed and prayed he wouldn't vomit, at least not until he could sit up and reach his chamber pot.

Arthur brought one hand up to rub at his forehead, or tried to; the clink and drag of chain confused him momentarily, and then memory came rushing back: the slavers. His captivity.

The ship.

Arthur pried his eyes open, and nearly moaned as his vision blurred, doubled, then finally refocused. He was lying on his side on the hard wooden deck of the ship, with men scurrying around him from one task to another. The light was unrelenting and hurt his eyes, and Arthur couldn't help but close them for another moment longer. He'd almost certainly already missed his last view of Albion's shores; what did it matter if he was able to see the ship now?

He opened them again and looked around, as best he could without moving his head and calling attention to himself. It had been just past nightfall when he'd lost consciousness, he remembered that much, and it was daylight now, or near to it. He'd been out at least the entire night, and possibly longer given how little sleep he'd gotten the previous two nights. Arthur struggled to gain any sense of how much time had passed, but his mind was a terrifying blank. And of course he had no idea which way the ship was headed; Saxons roamed the seas everywhere, from Eire in the west, to the kingdoms of the Northmen in the east, to all the coasts of the Continent south of Albion. They could be nearly to the end of a journey across the channel to the Continent, or only at the beginning of a voyage that would take them to lands Arthur had only heard rumor of.

It didn't matter, he thought. None of it mattered. Uther's men would search Camelot, and then maybe they'd search beyond their borders to scour Albion, and they'd still never find him. Arthur had been taken to be a slave, and would never see his home again.

He shut his eyes once more, this time against tears of pure despair. A Pendragon never gave up; his father had taught him that. But what was there to do, now? How could he keep fighting? Where could he go? Assuming he could even escape the Saxons, what foreign king would grant him audience, or offer to help him return home? Because the gods both old and new would know, Arthur couldn't do it on his own. He had nothing, absolutely nothing to his name now. He'd have to beg succor from whatever court he could find, and pray that they would be willing to help him at all.

And all of that was based on the notion that he could escape in the first place. Arthur glanced down at his body and saw that his ropes had been replaced with chains while he was unconscious. Manacles on his wrists were connected by a long chain to fetters on his ankles. He likely had a little more freedom of movement than he'd been given on the way across Camelot, but he was sure that it wouldn't do him any good. Yes, Arthur could probably reach the collar at his neck now, if he were to curl up into a ball, but he wouldn't be able to remove the lock that hung from it, or the chain attached to it. He wouldn't be able to run.

And even if he could, what then? He wouldn't get mercy from a single stranger he approached, looking as he did now. He was filthy and half-naked and chained like a prisoner, and that was what everyone would assume he was.

Arthur doubted he would even be able to speak the language, wherever they were going. His Latin was passable, but how many people on the street spoke that language, even in Albion? Who would he talk to, to ask for help? He was gagged and denied water every time he spoke now, as it was. He'd be unable to call for help and have anyone answer him.

And even if they did, who would care that a slave spoke Latin? All a buyer would see from him ( _A buyer_ , he thought in half-horror, half-disgust) was a strong body to work the fields until he broke down and died of exhaustion. Some educated slaves were given softer work, but no one would take a look at Arthur and expect him to even know how to read and write. Merlin was always saying he was as thick as he looked.

Merlin.

All this had started because he'd been angry with Merlin. He'd only been stolen because he'd left the castle alone, and had only left the castle because he'd been upset. Arthur knew better than to blame Merlin, though. He'd been right, in their argument, and Arthur had been upset when the other man had punctured his pride.

His argument with Merlin seemed so stupid now, anyway. So pointless. Arthur had recognized that, even then; he had intended to go back to the castle and try to make amends, before he'd been captured.

A year ago, Arthur would have laughed at the idea of making amends with a servant. Now he was a slave, with no power of his own, lower in station even than the lowest servants of the castle.

But that meant that Merlin was a servant without a master. Would Uther bother to keep him on, after they gave up the search for Arthur? Could Gaius persuade the king to let him stay as the physician's apprentice? Or would he be turned out, homeless, left to return to his mother and hope to make the best of his life there, just another peasant in a kingdom that didn't give a damn about the common folk?

Arthur shut his eyes again, mentally scoffing at himself. Stupid of him to be worrying about Merlin, when Arthur was the one who had been stolen away.

He just hoped Merlin wouldn't miss him too much, once they gave up the search.

* * *

 

Merlin's mount may not have been built for speed, but she _was_ bred for endurance. Apple was a sturdy little palfrey from the northern reaches of Albion with a nut-brown coat, that would have been laughed out of any knight's personal string of chargers and destriers. She looked more like a pony than a noblewoman's horse, but since a knight wouldn't have been caught dead on either of them anyway, it hardly mattered what she looked like. Certainly it didn't matter to Merlin. Underneath her shaggy coat was an intelligent beast with a smooth gait and a willing spirit, and even better, Merlin could often make her understand what he wanted from her with only a little thread of magic to help their communication.

So Apple knew, in her horsey way, that Merlin was looking for another member of their herd who had gone missing, and she understood that Merlin wasn't going to give up the search anytime soon. But she also knew that Merlin had promised bits of honeycomb and dried apples as treats for good behavior, as well as a good scratch between her ears when they stopped to rest for the night. There was a lot Apple would do for those rewards, Merlin knew, and indeed, the palfrey had given him no trouble at all for the entire day.

He had started by riding out to the clearing where he and Sir Leon had originally found Arthur's true trail, the one that glowed to Merlin's inner sight. Gaius had assured him that the trail itself would probably be invisible to anyone without magic, so he would not have to fear drawing suspicion while he followed it. With little effort, Merlin had been able to find Arthur's footsteps once more, and with just another tendril of magic reaching into Apple's mind, they had taken off.

Apple, bred to the job, moved at an amble, an easy, ground-eating pace that was just as fast as a trot, and sometimes even faster if the terrain was good, but which wouldn't jostle either Merlin or the packs, and which he knew from experience she could keep up all day if need be. She'd need a good rest if he had to push her much farther than a couple of days, but Apple would give Merlin everything she could until then. And who knew? Perhaps he could help boost her endurance with a little gift of magic, mixed in with her treats. It was worth a try, anyway.

They stopped for a short rest around midday, and Merlin decided to check that the packs were all evenly distributed, so that Apple wouldn't be uncomfortable. He'd brought along more than he'd originally expected, thanks to the king, Gaius, and the ladies. If nothing else, he reasoned, it would be good to hide all that wealth he been given in different packs, so that he didn't risk losing it all at once if he were robbed.

 _There's not just money in there_ , Gwen had said of Morgana's gift. Frowning, he opened her purse and peeked inside.

There was a little cloth pouch of silver, about the same size as Merlin had brought from his own funds, and he smiled to see it, suspecting that it had come from Gwen. In addition, though, he saw jewelry, glinting in the bottom of the purse. Merlin sat on the ground and pulled out a necklace set with sapphires and emeralds, a large pendant that was probably ruby—Merlin was no judge of gemstones, maybe it was garnet or something else he'd never heard of—and a pair of pearl drop earrings. There were also several pages of paper folded together in a little packet; Merlin opened it, setting the jewels aside to drape across his knee.

 _Merlin,_ he read in Morgana's handwriting, _there may be places you go where Camelot coin will be too risky to spend. The jewels are for those places. You can trade them for local coin, or use them for barter, depending on the situation. Just be sure that you do not sell them cheaply. The necklace may be broken apart and sold stone by stone if need be, and probably earn you more money than the intact necklace would. Each of the gems in it is probably worth at least a few hundred silver pennies._

Merlin paused, blinking, and reread that sentence. Then he looked at the necklace out of the corner of his eye, and reread it again. That… was a lot of money.

_The pendant is ruby, and should be worth enough to purchase a spare horse for Arthur, when you find him. Let him choose his mount, as he is a good judge of horseflesh, and the saddle and other gear as well, and only then give up the ruby to pay for it all. The earrings should give you enough for a good sword—do not let a weapon smith talk you into anything less! Even the gold settings of the necklace may be melted down and exchanged for coin, if you must. I am sure you know to exchange the gold by weight, not by whatever value of coin they try to offer you. Still, don't be surprised if the money lenders want to keep about ten percent of the value for their fee. Any more than that, and you can tell them you'll go to a goldsmith instead._

_Do not hold back, and do not plan to return these jewels to me. I do not want to see them again if it means that you are not able to find Arthur. In fact, I would spend the first of the jewels as soon as you can, to purchase yourself a fine set of clothing. I know you told Uther that people fear his knights and will not talk to them, and you are not wrong. People will talk to a commoner, like yourself_ _… but they may not listen to one. However, people_ are _more likely to listen to a man who is well off, who does not_ look _like a peasant. New clothing would serve you well in that regard._

_There is another reason I think you should make yourself look noble. Since Arthur was kidnapped, you may have to pay ransom to win him back. A peasant with that much money on hand will look like a thief, or at best a messenger. Arthur's captors would expect such a man to have to carry their words to someone else, someone with the authority to make decisions about Arthur's fate themselves. A man dressed as a merchant or a minor noble, however, will be more likely to be taken seriously._

_You go with our blessings and our prayers, Merlin. Be safe, and be swift._

_Morgana_

* * *

 

Merlin swallowed, and glanced at the pieces lying in his lap, glinting innocently in the dappled sun. Morgana had given Merlin almost as much wealth as Uther had, and even better, had given him some idea of how to spend it. She seemed truly to believe that Merlin would find Arthur and be able to bring him home.

And that was only what she had written on the first page of the packet. Curious now, Merlin looked at the next sheet, and his jaw dropped.

 _Because you believed me_ , it said at the top, and that sentence was followed by paragraph after paragraph describing people and places Merlin had never seen before. His hands began to shake as he realized that these were descriptions of things Morgana had seen in her dreams. She had given him her own foreknowledge of everything she could, anything that he might encounter, anything that might somehow be connected to Arthur's disappearance or his rescue.

Merlin recognized the description of a man who Morgana said was named Wulfger, and another named Adelbard. They were the men Merlin had seen in his own attempt to scry Arthur's location. She described a market, a place where captive prisoners and stolen children were sold into slavery, and the building where she had Seen Arthur, chained and blindfolded, waiting silently for his doom.

She said the blindfold itself was enchanted, but she didn't know what its purpose might be.

She said Arthur never spoke in her dreams, and that she didn't know what that meant.

She said so many things, and Merlin read them all hungrily, devouring every detail and planning to memorize them later that night.

For now, though, his rest was over. Apple looked fresh and ready to move on, and even seemed to be watching him impatiently, although that could have been Merlin's imagination. He scratched between her ears anyway, watching them droop in contentment, before climbing back in the saddle and continuing on his way.

* * *

 

It was early afternoon when Merlin came across the first campsite on Arthur's trail. He'd expected to have to travel much farther before reaching any of their stopping points, but the clearing was unmistakable, with its little fire ring full of ash and the glow of Arthur's prints next to a tree off to one side. The prince had sat there and struggled, from what Merlin could tell; one entire side of the tree glowed where Arthur had touched it, and while Merlin was no tracker, even he knew what seat prints looked like. The marks from where Arthur's feet had scuffed the dirt glowed brightly to Merlin's inner eye.

He dismounted and took a closer look at the tree, finding bits of rope fiber caught on the crags of the trunk. Arthur hadn't just sat there, Merlin realized; he'd been tied in place.

A rush of anger swept over Merlin, at the thought of anyone treating his friend like this. Morgana had given him descriptions of Wulfger and Adelbard, and in this moment, Merlin found himself really hoping that that meant he'd meet them. He'd like to give them his opinion on kidnapping the Crown Prince of Camelot, and then his further opinion on stealing Merlin's best friend away.

It was possible that expressing those opinions would involve lightning and fire.

Merlin took a deep breath, willing himself back to calm. Anger never helped him control his magic, and he needed his wits about him in order to keep tracking the kidnappers and Arthur.

With another deep breath, he reactivated the spell that lit up Arthur's tracks, then climbed back into the saddle. He and Apple could easily make several more miles before it became too dark to continue. If he had reached their first campsite already, maybe that meant they had been moving slowly enough that Merlin could catch up to them soon. Certainly Merlin had seen enough places where Arthur had stumbled and fallen to know that they hadn't been able to move too quickly in the first place. Maybe he'd be able to catch them before they put Arthur on that ship Morgana had Seen in her nightmares.

But if it turned out that he did have to cross the sea to find Arthur… well, he would, and that was that, no matter how long it took. Merlin had enough wealth to last him at least a year, if he needed it. He'd search for ten years, if he had to.

No matter where Arthur's track led him, Merlin would follow.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's ship lands in a foreign country; he is taken to a stable and left alone for the night. Merlin, following Arthur's trail, dreams of him, and plans his approach to Arthur's captors.

The ship came in sight of land somewhere near sunset. Arthur only knew this because the crew grew excited and began scrambling about, doing whatever it was sailors did to bring a ship of this size into harbor. Before long, the sails were furled, and the men were singing a chant as they worked the massive capstan to lower the ship's anchor into the water. Some of the men were setting out a gangplank to one side, and on the pier, longshoremen were yelling back and forth with the deckhands. An enormous crane was swinging out over the deck, lowering a pallet which the men began to fill with goods from the hold.

They must have landed at a good sized town, Arthur thought; he could smell the smoke and manure of the city over the ship's scent of salt and tar. Where they were exactly, he didn't know, nor could he find it in himself to care. It wasn't Albion. That was all that mattered.

The Saxon—the Saxon who had first captured Arthur—came to him then and kicked him lightly in the side. "Up, Björnungur," he said, pulling on the chain attached to Arthur's collar when he didn't rise fast enough. Arthur shuffled in his fetters, and his head throbbed where it had struck the dinghy, making him sway dizzily. The Saxon caught Arthur's chin in his hand and peered into his eyes critically. Whatever he saw there made him smile, just a little, and Arthur thought he read pity in the other man's expression.

Only a few days ago he'd vowed to kill this man. It was hard to believe he'd ever get the chance, now. He still jerked his chin out of the Saxon's grip, only to be smacked on the side of the head hard enough to make him see stars. He stumbled, but the chain on his neck kept him upright.

"Tame little bear lives longer," said the Saxon matter-of-factly, once Arthur's vision cleared. "Fighting bear… _kkhtt_." He drew one finger across his throat in an unmistakable gesture, then raised his eyebrows as if asking whether Arthur understood.

Arthur didn't bother to answer. He'd only be gagged again, if he spoke. Instead, he sneered and looked away, as if this man were beneath him, knowing that they both knew it was only an act.

The Saxon didn't seem to care, as long as Arthur did as he was told. He shouted something to one of the crewmen, who waved him off with a nod, then led Arthur toward the gangplank and off the ship.

The solidity of the pier actually made him stumble for the first few steps. Even though he'd lain there doing nothing, Arthur had apparently gotten used to the heave and roll of the ship, and now, he could feel his body attempting to react to a stimulus that wasn't there anymore. The chains restricting his movement didn't help, and Arthur found himself struggling for balance as he shuffle-walked behind the Saxon.

The city must have been at least the size of Camelot, judging by the number of people gathered here at the pier. Everywhere he looked, men and women were loading or unloading cargo, or hawking their wares under awnings set up right next to the boats. The combination of shouting people, screaming seagulls, the thump and creak of machinery, and the rush of water behind it all made for a deafening cacophony that only added to the ache in Arthur's head.

Everywhere he looked he saw garish color, in the form of strange clothing and exotic wares Arthur had never seen before. He could smell cooking fish and unusual spices, which unfortunately combined with the smell of smoke and offal to turn his stomach.

If he were here as a prince, he'd have been fascinated. He and Merlin could have taken their time to look at the impromptu market set up on the pier, bought gifts for Morgana and Gwen, or listened to stories from faraway lands. They could have tried the food and laughed at the expressions on each other's faces.

If he'd been here as a prince, people would have cleared a path for him to walk and smiled as he passed, trying to catch his attention and sell him things. The pier would have been a marvel to enjoy.

But he wasn't here as a prince.

No one smiled at Arthur; no one offered him food. The only looks he got were of pity or disgust, as he shuffled along in his chains, and the only people who got out of the way were the ones who looked like they didn't want to touch him in case his misery were contagious.

The Saxon was at least moving slowly enough that Arthur could keep up. He didn't bother looking at Arthur either, but he at least didn't seem interested in making Arthur trip or fall. That was a good thing, because the pier's surface was filthy with the tracked dirt from thousands of shoes, animal manure, seagull shit, spilled fish guts, and the gods only knew what else. Arthur stepped in something that squelched, and shuddered from head to toe, trying not to think about what it might have been.

Someone grabbed Arthur's arm and he startled, yanking back, and nearly lost his balance. The man only grinned and reached for his arm again, saying something to the Saxon. The Saxon turned and frowned, shaking his head, but the first man gripped Arthur's jaw and forced his mouth open, leaning in as if he wanted to kiss Arthur, despite Arthur's struggles. Instead of kissing, though, the man turned Arthur's head this way and that, before letting him go and prodding at his bare chest.

Inspecting his teeth, Arthur realized. The man was inspecting him like a horse, or other livestock.

Like a slave.

Arthur clamped his jaw shut, and took a deep breath through his nose, and refused to shed a single tear.

The Saxon slapped the other man's hand away from Arthur and said something Arthur couldn't understand. The first man laughed and said something back, loudly enough for people around them to hear and laugh themselves before moving on their way. Arthur _prayed_ for a sword to defend himself, looking around, but they didn't actually seem to be attracting a crowd. Instead, the Saxon shook his head one more time, and tugged on Arthur's chain—his _leash_ —and continued on his way.

A pinch on Arthur's behind made him jump and nearly lose his footing. He heard laughter behind him, but there was nothing Arthur could do but clench his fists, clutch at the chain connecting his manacles to his fetters, and keep walking.

* * *

 

The Saxon led Arthur away from the piers and toward a larger, permanent market, past the fishmongers who were set up near their ships, and then past pens filled with livestock. It was growing dark now, but the bustle of the city did not seem ready to abate quite yet. Lamps and torches were lit, and people continued buying and selling fabric, pottery, food, and spices everywhere Arthur looked.

There were people everywhere, yet no one bothered them, or gave the Saxon any trouble for leading a half-naked man in a collar and chains through the streets. Slavery must be commonplace here, if Arthur had to guess.

Finally the Saxon brought Arthur to a long, low stable,and rapped on the door once before leading him into the building. It was warm inside after the damp chill of the pier, and dark, lit only by a single lamp above the doorway. It was also much quieter than outside; Arthur heard horses shuffling about in their stalls, but also a woman crying, somewhere down the corridor. Her moans made the hair on his arms stand up.

A little weasel of a man appeared, bowing and scraping in a manner that reminded Arthur unpleasantly of Cedric, and he and the Saxon spoke in low tones. The man wore robes, and grew his facial hair in a ridiculously thin mustache, with a mere wisp of beard below it. He eyed Arthur greedily, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a jewel on a thin, gold chain. In the dim lamp light, it seemed to be a pale yellow, but Arthur couldn't tell for sure.

While Arthur was distracted, the Saxon drew a knife and cut a shallow slice on the back of Arthur's forearm. Arthur yelped and tried to jerk away, but of course his chains kept him from going anywhere. The Saxon gave a warning jerk against Arthur's collar, but put the knife away as quickly as he'd drawn it.

The second man grabbed Arthur's bleeding arm and pressed the jewel into the cut, making Arthur hiss. He would have demanded to know what the hell they thought they were playing at, whether it got him gagged or not, but in that instant the jewel flared gold and Arthur felt a sharp pins-and-needles sensation up his arm.

 _Sorcery,_ he thought in a sudden panic, and jerked his arm back.

The man only laughed, and let him go. "Latine loqui tu, puer?" he asked. _Do you speak Latin, boy?_

Arthur snarled. "Ego sum filius a rege!" _I am the son of a king!_ It had been one of the first things his tutors had taught him to say.

The Saxon laid one hand heavy on the back of Arthur's neck and squeezed in warning, but the robed sorcerer simply smiled wider. _And for that, you will fetch a higher price,_ he said. _A very high price, indeed._

He switched back to whatever language they had been using before as Arthur's eyes grew wide in horror. How could being a prince make him _more_ valuable as a slave, rather than saving him from his fate?

The Saxon led him to a stall midway down the corridor and waited as the sorcerer unlocked it. The lower walls were wooden, like any horse stall, but the upper half was covered in iron bars. Arthur knew some horses were vicious enough that they had to be kept in barred stalls, but he'd never thought he would have to sleep in one himself… and it was clear that that was what the two men had in mind. The Saxon guided Arthur inside, and he nearly tripped over the deep straw that caught in his fetters. The men looped the end of Arthur's leash around one of the bars, and fastened it in place with another lock. His chain was long enough that Arthur probably would be able to sit down and rest against the wall, but it was clear he wouldn't be able to escape, even if the stall door were left unlocked.

Without further ado, the men made to leave, and something about that, about being abandoned in a foreign land, even by the Saxon, was too much to bear.

"You can't leave me here," he said, trying to follow. The Saxon merely planted one hand on his chest and shoved him back into the stall as the sorcerer locked the door in his face. "Hic non derelinques animam meam!" he tried again. "Ego sum princeps!"

 _You can be a prince without a tongue, if you like,_ said the sorcerer. _It's all the same to me._

Arthur shut his mouth, but still pressed up against the bars of his cell desperately, watching as the two men made their way back to the stable entrance and left. They blew out the tiny lamp, before shutting the door and leaving him alone in the dark.

Down the corridor, the woman began to cry again, and Arthur was sorely tempted to join her.

* * *

 

Merlin and Apple made good time through the forest. There were times that they passed close to the nearby villages, he noticed, but Arthur's track never led them in, and Merlin didn't want to risk losing the trail. He was surprised, though, at how quickly he seemed to be gaining on Arthur and his kidnappers. To have found one camp already, with less than a day's travel, seemed promising.

The trail certainly showed that they'd kept Arthur on foot. Even if the kidnappers rode horses, they would have had to go at Arthur's pace, and he was barefoot and likely tied up somehow. He wouldn't have been able to walk very quickly.

The only thing that worried Merlin was why Arthur's captors did not seem to be in any hurry to get out of Camelot. Were they that certain they wouldn't be caught? Did they have allies that Merlin didn't know about, that Morgana hadn't Seen? He couldn't be sure.

When it finally grew too dark to continue, he happened to be near a village, so Merlin rode in and found a place to stay. They had no inn, but the miller had space in his loft and was willing to stable Apple with his donkeys for a couple of silver pennies. The loft was warm and dry, and Merlin slept well.

That night, he dreamed of Arthur. The prince's hands were tied, arms pinned down near his waist, but he was fighting with all his strength anyway against a crowd of men, who surrounded him and carried him away bodily. Merlin tossed in his sleep, upset but unable to wake, as Arthur kicked one man in the groin, and then the mob descended on him, beating and kicking him as he lay in the sand. Finally they lifted Arthur, stunned and still struggling weakly, and threw him into the bottom of a little boat. Arthur hit his head and went limp, just as Merlin opened his eyes.

He was sitting up in the hayloft, breathing hard and sweating. Straw stuck to the side of his face, and Merlin picked it off impatiently. Sand, and a boat. It may have only been a dream, but Merlin didn't think so. He knew, in the same unnameable way that he knew his magic, that Morgana's vision was coming true.

Merlin wasn't sure how he'd be able to find Arthur, if he had to go across the sea. Magic was probably the only thing that could help him… but he wasn't sure _how_.

* * *

 

It didn't take Merlin long at all, once he was back on the road, to find Arthur's second encampment; however, the golden markings he saw there were confusing. At the first campsite, he'd seen where Arthur's trail had broken into a run, heading back the way he'd come, the footprints spaced far apart as Arthur jumped over logs and ducked under branches, until he'd stumbled and fallen in the bracken. Even without magic, Merlin had been able to read the broken twigs that marked a struggle. After that, the trail resumed, leading away from Camelot once more.

The signs had been clear: Arthur had tried to escape, and failed.

After that, though, the trail grew ragged. Arthur had stumbled a lot, fallen more than a few times, and his footsteps wove from side to side rather than traveling in an even line. Merlin couldn't tell what had happened, if Arthur had been wounded or drugged or what, but it was clear he wasn't in a good way just from the way he had been walking. It made Merlin worry about how badly hurt Arthur might be when Merlin found him.

At the campsite, the spot where Arthur had been left for the night was between two narrow trees, but his prints didn't look like he'd been sitting or lying down. It took Merlin a moment to realize he was looking at knee prints. Arthur had been forced to his knees and then somehow made to stay that way, not allowed to rest for the entire night.

Merlin took a deep breath, willing himself to calm. He'd already seen enough the day before to make him deeply angry about the way Arthur was being treated, and seeing this certainly didn't help, but he had to keep his head. He _had_ to. Arthur's life was at stake. Merlin might be used to running in with half a plan and half a prayer, trusting to his immense magical power to blast his way through most problems, but he couldn't afford to act that way now. The people who had taken Arthur had clearly planned well, and they might anticipate people coming after the prince. Merlin would need to be careful, lest he be outsmarted before he could even find Arthur, must less rescue him.

So he gritted his teeth again, climbed back into Apple's saddle, and forced himself to think as he continued through the forest.

What would he do if he found Arthur still being held prisoner by his captors? How would he get Arthur out?

Morgana had mentioned a market where slaves were sold, and that she had Seen Arthur awaiting his fate there in silence. Did Merlin have enough gold to buy Arthur back? He had enough to buy passage on a ship, and a horse, a sword, and a new set of clothing. Would what was left be enough to buy his friend?

What if Merlin caught up to Arthur before he reached the market? How many people could he expect to fight? He had only seen two in his own scrying, but what if there were more?

Merlin was terrible at fighting. Sneaking was much more his style, thanks to magic being outlawed. But would he be able to sneak into a camp and steal Arthur out from under his captors' noses?

He sighed, and kept riding. It would help if he had even one knight with him. Or maybe he should just think like a knight. What would Sir Leon have done, if he were here, or Lancelot?

No, that was no good. Knights fought. Merlin… Merlin could fight in a pinch, with magic, but if he did, then he'd have no choice but to kill everyone he found in Arthur's camp, in order to protect his secret. Merlin wasn't sure he could be that ruthless.

Any kidnappers taken alive would be executed by the king anyway, Merlin thought, but then dismissed the notion. High justice was the prerogative of the king, and some of the higher nobles in the land who had had that right granted to them. Anyone else who killed someone, unless it was in self-defense, was committing murder, not justice. Merlin was pretty sure even the letter of marque from Uther wouldn't protect him from the consequences of committing a murder.

Morgana seemed certain that Merlin would have to _talk_ Arthur free. Buy him. Pose as a noble. That was probably something Merlin could pull off. Or if not a nobleman, at least a wealthy merchant or something… someone who would want to buy a slave.

All right, then; why would someone want to buy Arthur? How could Merlin justify wanting _Arthur_ as his personal slave, and no one else in the market?

Merlin frowned as he rode, thinking hard. Maybe he could say he needed someone strong to carry heavy loads for him. There might be other strong men for sale, though. Maybe he wanted someone specifically from Camelot, or from Albion, because he "planned to travel there" as a merchant, and needed a translator. That might work, if it didn't draw suspicion. Merlin would have to figure out a way to speak their language and not his own, though, in order for it to work, but he knew he had seen language spells in his book.

Or Merlin could keep things simple. Hell, maybe he could just say he wanted a slave that was pretty to look at. Arthur was at least good-looking enough that a seller might believe him. Or, a slave was supposed to be just another type of livestock. People picked horses or goats or cattle for their color, or good teeth, or strong limbs, all the time. He could just look over whatever slaves the market offered and say he wanted Arthur in particular. Maybe he'd be lucky, and he wouldn't have to give a reason.

Maybe he'd be _really_ lucky, and Arthur wouldn't be in a market at all. He could sneak into an encampment, free Arthur, hand him Gwen's sword, and then let him kill his captors himself, and then they could both go home.

He had a feeling, though, that he wasn't going to be that lucky.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin arrives at the coast, then prays to the gods and is led to a nearby city, where he begins to prepare for his journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that Arthur isn't mentioned in this chapter; that's because my timelines had gotten off-kilter from one another, and I needed to get them matched up again. As mentioned in a previous chapter, Arthur is currently on a ship at sea, either unconscious or sleeping, and nothing much is happening where he is. We'll catch up to him again soon, don't worry.

Arthur's trail ended at the coast.

Merlin looked around with a sinking heart, pushing his magic further, but there was nothing to see. The forest had given way to rocky coastline and a shallow beach, and Arthur's glowing gold footprints ended in the grass just above the sand. Merlin had dreamed this place, he realized; this was where Arthur had been picked up and bodily carried off, then dropped into a little dinghy and knocked out. The dinghy would have to have taken Arthur to a larger ship, since there weren't any towns nearby. The ship… the ship could have gone anywhere.

He was gone. Arthur was gone.

Merlin's breath grew shaky as tears welled up, but he fought them back with an effort. He and Morgana had known this was a possibility. Morgana still believed Merlin could find Arthur.

Merlin hadn't even begun to dig into his bag of tricks yet, hadn't spent a single one of Uther's gold coins. He wasn't finished, and he'd vowed that he would find Arthur no matter what it took. It was just going to take a little more effort than he'd hoped for, that was all.

But where did he go from here?

On a whim, Merlin closed his eyes and reached out with his magic. He didn't know much about the Old Religion, but he knew it was magic, just like he was, and he knew there were gods that sometimes responded to the calls of their priests and priestesses. He was no priest, but he was here at the junction of earth and sea and sky, and it somehow felt right to bring his magic to the surface and see what happened.

 _Help me_ , he thought, and felt the energy burn through him as it reached to give him what he needed. _If Arthur is destined to be a great king of all Albion, he needs to be_ in _Albion. Help me find him. And even without destiny, he is my friend. Help me find my friend._

Magic stretched and pulled, yearning, seeking, until finally Merlin felt something like the snapping of fine thread, and the energy dissipated. He couldn't reach Arthur this way.

Or could he? There was a tug in Merlin's chest now that he hadn't felt before, a little twinge like a tender muscle, and when Merlin opened his eyes, he was facing away from the beach. He nudged Apple forward, and the feeling in his chest responded, seeming to pull him in the right direction.

Gaius had shown him a scientific marvel once, an instrument called a compass, whose needle always pointed north no matter which way one tried to aim it. He couldn't explain how it worked, and he kept it hidden from Uther, even though he said there was no magic in it. Certainly Merlin hadn't felt anything when he'd held the compass himself.

But he felt a bit like that needle now, he realized, tugged in one direction, maybe even a little bit helpless to turn aside and point anywhere else.

Merlin could only hope that he was pointed toward Arthur, or toward something that might help him on his quest.

* * *

 

The pull led Merlin toward a city about an hour's ride up the coast. He could see fishing boats on the water, either coming back with the morning's catch or heading back out again, before he topped a rise and the city itself came into view. It was quite a large town, at least compared to Camelot, and it had a good harbor, with many piers; Merlin could see larger ships moored there, rocking gently in the sparkling water. With luck, he'd be able to pay for passage on one of them, to take him where he needed to go.

It was probably also time to dress the part, as Morgana had suggested, if he could find someone to make him some clothing. Or… if he bought the fabric, he might be able to magic it together himself, with a little effort. He wasn't as good with a needle and thread as Gwen, maybe, but he'd repaired enough holes in Arthur's shirts—and used sorcery to speed things along—that it should be doable.

The first thing he did was seek out an inn. It turned out there were three of them, down near the harbor. One looked to be mainly a sailors' hangout; Merlin thought about poking his head in, but then ducked as a bottle was thrown through an open window, followed by two brawling men, who didn't even seem to notice that they were outside now rather than in. Three more sailors appeared in the window, yelling and cheering, waving their fists and tankards of beer that Merlin could smell even from the street.

Right. On to the other inns, then.

The second one looked promising, but the landlady shook her head when he asked about a bed. "We're full up," she said, "unless you want the common room. You'd have to share a bed with two other guests, and the other four beds in that room are just as full."

That left the third as Merlin's only option. Fortunately, they did have room, but the landlord there looked him up and down a little dubiously and said, "I'm not sure you could afford us. There's the Sheaf of Wheat, back the way you came…"

"I can afford you," said Merlin. He thought quickly and added, "These are just my traveling clothes. Wouldn't do to get my nice things all dirty."

The landlord still seemed skeptical, until Merlin reached into his purse and pulled out one of the gold coins. It was barely the size of his fingertip, the smallest denomination he had, but it was enough to make the man's eyebrows rise and a pleased smile to cross his face. "I suppose you'll be wanting a private room, then, and not the common?"

"If you please," replied Merlin. He'd have to remember to be a bit more haughty with the next place he went to, once he properly looked the part.

"Dinner is served at the fourth bell during the dogs' watch," said the landlord. "That's about vespers if you're a landlubber. I hope you like fish. And if you need a bath brought up to your room, we can do that, but you'll need to give us about an hour to heat the water."

"I'll remember that," said Merlin.

"Your coin is good for three days, room and board. Breakfast is a cold sideboard, bread and cheese, fruit, smoked fish, that sort of thing, available from sunrise till midmorning. You're on your own for lunch."

Merlin nodded. "And my horse?"

"Covers stabling for her, too," said the landlord. "Be sure to let the ostler know if there's anything special she needs, or if she bites, anything like that."

"She doesn't," replied Merlin.

"Good to know. My name's Gaheris, if you need anything else."

"Merlin."

They shook hands, then Gaheris whistled sharply, and the ostler stuck his head out of the stable, followed by a younger boy.  Between the two of them and Merlin, they quickly got Apple out of her saddle and bridle and into a stall, and the boy loaded down with Merlin's bags. Merlin gave Apple one last pat on her nose, then he and the boy followed Gaheris up to his room.

"Here it is, and here's your key," said the landlord, as he unlocked the door and then passed it to Merlin. "Number five. I hope it's to your liking."

The space was about half again as large as Merlin's room in Gaius's tower, with whitewashed walls and scrubbed floorboards, and a little window with a deep sill, letting in the sun. It had no fireplace, but the chimney took up the wall nearest the bed, which was also larger than the one he slept in at the castle. The bed itself had good thick blankets on it, turned back to reveal crisp, clean sheets and a reasonable pillow. In addition, there was a carved wardrobe standing empty with its doors open, and a chair in front of a small table holding a pitcher and washbasin.

Gaheris and the stable boy both looked at him expectantly. "Oh. Uh, this will be fine," said Merlin. "Just set the bags down over there." He pulled out a silver penny to hand to the boy, who gave him a gap-toothed smile and a little bow before he took himself off.

"Word of advice," said Gaheris. "Get yourself a money belt; wear it under your clothes, and keep the day's money there. Purse like that, full of coin, is an easy target for thieves."

"Thanks, I'll remember that."

Merlin looked around the room once they were gone, then tossed the key into the air, caught it with a smile, and tucked it away in his pocket.

He had a tailor to find.

* * *

Dinner wouldn't be served for several hours yet, so Merlin took his time exploring the city. The garment district was a street of its own, full of people selling everything from fresh-dyed wool yarn to bolts of something called silk, from the other side of the Continent. Other side of the world, it was rumored. Arthur had a silk shirt that he wore only on the fanciest of occasions, but Merlin had never seen a full bolt of the fabric, never mind several  of them in different colors and weights. There were spinners, weavers, and seamstresses, all trading their goods back and forth to one another, as children ran to and fro on errands for their mistresses.

And there was sorcery here. It was discreet, behind closed doors, but Merlin could feel it. People were working _magic_ in the shops on this street!

The pull in Merlin's chest was back, and he followed it to a shop whose signboard showed a large pair of scissors, and a spool of thread with needle. He couldn't feel any magic coming from this shop, but he hadn't exactly expected to find sorcery here so close to Camelot anyway.

Actually, how close to Camelot was he? Merlin had been following Arthur's trail through the forest and avoiding the road, so he'd completely missed any boundary markers… and now, if he were honest with himself, he wasn't completely sure which kingdom this was.

He opened the shop door and stepped inside, unsure what to expect. It was empty, except for him and the merchandise, and quiet after the din of the street. He saw cloaks and a few simple tunics hanging on mannequins that reminded Merlin a bit of Arthur's training dummies, and a sign that read "Patches 5p" on one wall. A tiny bell chimed over the door as Merlin closed it.

"Be right there, be right there, I'm in the middle of someth—just—I'll only be a moment!"

"No hurry," answered Merlin, looking around. On a shelf were folded pairs of pants, and another even held new smallclothes for sale, but nothing he was looking at really seemed fancy enough for a disguise. If the old gods were leading Merlin about, and had brought him to this city, why had they brought him to this shop?

He was carefully touching a bolt of fabric propped along one wall when the proprietor emerged from the back of the shop. "Welcome, welcome, sorry for the delay, I had a dart in a gown that just _would_ not cooperate, how can I help you?" The words were spoken so breathlessly that Merlin almost felt bad for interrupting whatever he'd been working on. His first impression of the tailor was of a wispy sort of man with quick hands and an overall nervous disposition, but he seemed friendly enough.

"I have… kind of a weird request," he said. "I—hmm. How do I put this—"

"You're getting married in a week and you need a full set of bride and groom's clothing," guessed the tailor. "Oh dear, I'd love to help with something like that but a week is just not enough time since my sorceress is off having her baby—"

"No! No, I'm not getting married," said Merlin with a little laugh. "I—" Then the rest of what the little man had said sank in. "Did you say sorceress?"

"Well, yes." The tailor squinted at him, looking him over in a way that reminded Merlin of Gaheris the innkeeper. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Er, no?"

"Well. Don't you fret. We're a long way from Uther the Mad's policies, here in Nemeth. Our king has a much more sensible approach to magic."

"I… see," said Merlin. There was so much he wanted to ask, but now was not the time. "Anyway, I'm not getting married, it's just, I need to travel across the sea, and I need to look noble. Or at least wealthy enough for people to take seriously. Not like… this," he added, gesturing at himself.

"Oh, no, I see, you're right, that wouldn't do at all, right now you look like you were born in Essetir and farmed the land your whole life. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course!" The tailor walked around Merlin in a tight little orbit, brushing dust from Merlin's shoulders and fingering his sleeve. "But the neckerchief will have to go, and you'll need new boots… hmm. On the other hand, your coloring is exquisite, and those cheekbones! I suppose the ears are a bit of a challenge, but I can work with this, definitely," said the man. "I take if you want everything from the skin out? Smallclothes," he pressed, when Merlin looked at him blankly.

"Oh. Er, yes."

"You'll need new boots, too. I don't make boots, but my cousin does, just a few streets over. How quickly do you need all this done?"

"How quickly can you do it?" asked Merlin. "I can pay, if that's an issue."

"Well, like I said, my sorceress is out with her new baby, otherwise I could have it ready tomorrow," said the tailor. "Except for the boots, of course. Without her, I'll have to do it the old fashioned way, and I have other orders in front of you… it'd be a week at least, with fittings and all."

No, that wouldn't do at all. But there had to be a reason that he'd been brought to this shop and no other. If the gods were guiding him, Merlin thought, then he needed to let himself be guided.

He took a deep breath, and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. "I'm a sorcerer," he said in a hushed voice, tangling his fingers together. "And I really need this outfit as fast as possible. What if you showed _me_ what to do?"

The tailor blinked at him, as if surprised; then, however, his eyes flickered with just the barest hint of gold, and he _stared_ at Merlin for a moment before he blinked again and seemed to come back to himself.

"It's not my usual habit," he said slowly, "and if you ruin any of my fabric you'll be paying for it out of your own pocket. But I can see that you have quite a bit of magic yourself. You could at least manage the spells, once you learn them."

"Yes!" said Merlin, grinning in relief. "Yes, I definitely could. And like I said, I know putting off your other customers might be a problem, but I'm willing to pay you extra if you could take me immediately."

"It's not my usual habit," said the tailor again, "but oh, why not. The lady's gown isn't due for another couple of days, and between you and me, I've hardly had any business with Lucretia gone. Everyone wants their clothes faster, stitched with magic, and they go to the other shops instead. I'm sure once Lucretia is back things will pick up again, but for now… I'll tell you what. You can learn the spells and help me finish that gown tonight, and in exchange I'll do your outfit, for only half-labor and the cost of the materials."

"That sounds very generous," said Merlin. At least, he hoped it was generous. It wasn't as if he knew a whole lot about how business was conducted. Whenever he went to the market, either it was for himself and he could only afford the cheapest things, or it was for Arthur and money wasn't even mentioned. "Do you think we could start now, and finish tonight?"

"That will depend on how quickly you pick up the new spells."

Merlin nodded decisively. "Done."

"Done," said the little man, putting out his hand for Merlin to shake. "You can call me Kentigern."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin, after completing his "wealthy noble" disguise, returns to the inn for dinner, where he sees a familiar face.

Kentigern, while a breathless and nervous sort, turned out to actually be very knowledgeable about his craft. Merlin was asked exactly one question about what fabric he wanted to use for his shirts, or some such thing; when the tailor saw the blank look on his face, however, he tossed his hands in the air as if shooing away a bothersome fly.

"Never mind, never mind, if you trust me to make the decisions we can have you looking like a prince by evening, will that be all right?"

"You're the expert," Merlin grinned. Kentigern smiled back and shoved a scroll at him.

"Very well, then. Here are the spells you'll need to learn. They're quite straightforward, 'cut' and 'join' and that sort of thing. All you'll have to do is cut along my marks and join where I tell you to. Now, let's get you undressed—"

"Undressed?!"

"Oh, don't yelp at me, I need _measurements_ , for clothes that fit you _properly,_ if I measure you while you're still in these things everything we make will hang off you like a sack!"

"Oh. I… see."

"You want to look noble, or at least wealthy, right?" Kentigern asked. At Merlin's nod, he went on, "That means _fitted_ clothing. Nothing off the shelf for you. Custom tailored, bespoke garb, top to toe. And I'll send my wife to pick out jewelry for you."

"Is that really necessary?" Merlin tried not to wince, but jewels would be expensive, and he was trying to hang onto his coin to help him find Arthur.

"To a noble or a wealthy merchant, clothing without jewelry is like… like a flower stem with no petals. You can strut around the Five Kingdoms all you like, but everyone who looks at you will notice that something is missing, and that will make it harder for them to believe that you are who you say you are. And if you want them to believe you…"

"I do." He really, really did.

"…then your disguise needs to be complete."

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "I didn't say it was a disguise."

Kentigern raised both eyebrows in a look all too reminiscent of Gaius when he was feeling skeptical. "You look like you're from Essetir and speak like you're from Camelot, and you have magic. If you're not accustomed to getting people to believe in an _image_ of you, I'd be very surprised indeed."

Merlin swallowed, and said nothing.

"There there," said Kentigern, patting him on the arm, "we all do it. The clothes we wear announce who we are—or who we want to _be seen as_ —just as surely as writing it on our foreheads. I'm simply better trained at noticing such things than most. It's my livelihood, after all."

"If you say so." It was very hard not to feel threatened by this man, who saw him so clearly, when Merlin had hidden himself away most of his life. The tailor was absolutely right, though, and Merlin was smart enough to realize that.

"I do say so." Kentigern patted him on the arm again. "Now, take off your jacket and shirt, and that _neckerchief_ , and then have a look at that scroll. I can get some measurements while you're sitting down, at least."

* * *

 

By the time the afternoon was over, Merlin had learned several new simple spells (which he was pretty sure he didn't actually need the words for, but he wasn't going to reveal that), met Kentigern's wife, Clara, and been completely outfitted in not one but two sets of clothing. He even had a new pair of soft leather boots, courtesy of Kentigern's cousin, the cobbler. They were nearly as comfortable as Merlin's old broken-in pair, but in black suede rather than worn and faded brown. They fit like a second skin all the way up to his knee, and had magically reinforced soles that were still flexible and easy to wear without hurting Merlin's feet.

"And all you need to clean them is a damp cloth," said the cousin; "the leather's got a very minor enchantment on it as well, to keep the dirt from sticking. I hope that will suffice."

"Yeah," said Merlin, "yeah, this is great." He wriggled his toes, just to feel the soft warmth of the new socks he was wearing.

"'Yes'," said Clara gently. "Nobles don't say 'yeah'."

"Right. Sorry."

Kentigern snickered. "They don't apologize much, either, in my experience."

"Well, I'm not going to act like a snob to any of _you,_ when you've already helped me so much," exclaimed Merlin. "So just… get used to it and let me say 'thank you', already. And I know, nobles hardly ever say that to people either. I work for one. Great prat that he is, acts like the world should be grateful to him just for the wonder of his existing."

Kentigern, Clara, and the cousin all blinked at him. "You don't… say that around him, do you? Your employer?"

Merlin almost said yes, because he did and had, many times, but stopped himself at the last second. "Nah. 'Course not. I'd get sacked, wouldn't I?"

From the looks on their faces, he wasn't sure they believed him.

* * *

 

In the end, Merlin ended up paying far less than he'd feared he would for the clothing, the boots, and the jewelry; Clara had found someone to convert some of Morgana's sapphires from her necklace into a ring, pendant, and matching earring, and a heavier chain to go with the ruby she'd included, so he'd only had to pay for the chain itself and whatever labor had been involved (he suspected magic, since it was done so quickly). In addition to the new boots, the cobbler was happy to supply Merlin with a new leather satchel to keep all the spare clothing in, along with his old set. "Ideally you'd have a servant to carry this for you," he explained. "Just don't carry your own things once you're playing your part. Hire a boy, if you must, but never stoop to service if you're not a servant yourself."

"Right," said Merlin.

"Mind you only ever wear two of the three _matching_ jewelry pieces at a time," added Clara, "not all three at once. I'd recommend leaving the ring on all the time, and just switching back and forth between the earring and the pendant. Or you could wear both the earring and the ring, with the ruby. They compliment one another nicely, and help to tie the ensemble together."

Merlin blinked, not quite sure what that last sentence even meant. "If you say so."

Kentigern spoke next, flicking imaginary dust from Merlin's shoulders and straightening his collar. "Since you're not a servant, you've no master's livery to wear, and since you're not a noble, you have no arms, but that won't be a problem. Some merchants do like to have a little insignia or badge, though, something that isn't regulated like a coat of arms or seal of nobility would be. Are you sure you don't have anything like that that we could include? On the cloak, perhaps?"

"No," Merlin replied, then paused. "Or, actually…" He shrugged the cloak back off and laid it out on the cutting table. Kentigern had insisted that all the trim be in silver, so he couldn't do it in gold as he would prefer, but maybe that was for the best. It'd be less noticeable, less likely to be recognized. Merlin placed his hand over the left breast of the cloak and whispered the spell, then pulled his hand away. Embroidered in silver filigree was Camelot's dragon, with tiny scales picked out in silver thread, and a sapphire for its eye.

"Oh, very nice," said Kentigern. "Put that on the collars of the shirts as well, one on each side, and perhaps even on the vest, only smaller. You could even put them on the tops of the boots, on the outsides where people will see them as you ride."

"I'll do it later," Merlin promised. "For now, it's nearly dinner. You've all three been so helpful, I don't want to keep you."

"You could stay and eat with us," offered Clara.

"No, really, you've already done so much. Besides, once it's dark I probably won't be able to find my way back to the inn. I should go now while I can still see."

"If you're sure…"

"I am," said Merlin. "Thank you, though. For everything."

Kentigern nodded decisively. "Heading back now will also give you a chance to practice how to act in front of passersby," he said. "No ducking your head, or slouching your shoulders. No dodging out of other people's way; you make _them_ dodge _you_. We've dressed you up so that you look like you're as rich as the gods of Avarice themselves, so make sure you carry off the _attitude_ of someone like that, too."

Merlin thought of Arthur and how ridiculously arrogant he'd seemed when they'd first met, as if he owned everything he laid eyes on and could have it just with the crook of a finger, and nodded slowly. It'd feel weird, but he was pretty sure he could pull it off. "All right," he said. "I'll remember that."

"Very good," said Kentigern. "A pleasure doing business with you… 'my lord'."

Merlin grinned. "That'll take getting used to."

"Well, then, off you go, to _get used to it_. And have a good journey, wherever you're headed. I daresay you'll turn quite a few heads."

* * *

 

Merlin wasn't quite sure what he'd expected, heading out onto the street, but it turned out that Kentigern's prediction was absolutely right. Even carrying his new satchel and not trying to look arrogant or prattish, Merlin still saw people stopping conversation to stare at him as he passed. Not only that, but they stepped aside for him and even bowed. And then there were the girls his age who eyed him and giggled, or started whispering to one another behind their hands. It was more than a little disconcerting, and a relief to know he could change out of these clothes and become invisible again if he wanted.

He wondered if Arthur had ever felt uncomfortable being the center of everyone's attention like this. If he had, the prat would probably never have admitted it… or actually, maybe that was why he acted like a prat in the first place. Sure, when they'd originally met, Arthur had really believed that the world was at his feet where it belonged, but a younger prince? A child, just being introduced to the wider world, maybe a bit shy? Maybe taught by Uther never to show his nerves to anyone? Covering all that up with a front of arrogance was probably the easiest way to hide what he really felt.

Merlin was pretty sure he could do that. He'd have to, if Morgana's hunch was right and Arthur was in a slave pen, waiting to be sold.

For now, though, hiding what he really felt meant keeping his thoughts off his face, because the last time he'd scowled, thinking about Arthur, some poor child had tripped over their feet trying to get out of Merlin's way as he walked. Looking pleasant or vaguely distracted made a servant seem like a harmless idiot; apparently it made a wealthy noble seem like someone who was at least not going to throw a man into the stocks for no reason.

Regardless, Merlin made it back to the inn without any trouble, and even somewhat enjoyed the double take that Gaheris gave him when he walked through the door.

"My lord," said the man. He still looked skeptical, but also like a man who knew what side his bread was buttered on. "I trust you enjoyed the city?"

"I did, Gaheris." There were only two other men in the common room at the moment, who were dressed almost as nicely as Merlin was. They were older, though, and only glanced at Merlin once before returning to their drinks and their chess game. "How long until dinner?"

"About an hour, my lord. If you're going to your room, you should hear the bell well enough."

"That will do," said Merlin with a nod. He stopped himself from saying "thank you" at the last second; it felt a little ridiculous, but he wasn't acting even half as prattish as Arthur could without even trying. He made for the stairs without another word, his new cloak swirling behind him.

* * *

 

One he'd shut and locked the door, Merlin took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders and neck, trying to relax. He wasn't a noble, and even though he'd only had to pretend to be one for about an hour so far, and wasn't even trying very hard, it still felt… weird. Almost wrong. At the same time, if Merlin were being honest with himself, it was a little bit fun, as a peasant used to telling a certain prattish prince where he could stuff his attitude, to try and imitate that same prat in an effort to find and rescue him.

Now he just had to figure out where Arthur had been taken, which sobered Merlin immediately. The pull in his chest when he thought about Arthur was still there; Merlin had been able to focus on other things earlier, which was a bit of a relief, but now that he was alone again, it seemed to be increasing in intensity.

Frowning, Merlin hung his cloak up in the wardrobe, then sat on the bed and shut his eyes. This weird pull had come about as a result of an almost-prayer, a reaching out of his magic toward the man who was supposed to be the other side of his coin. What would happen if he focused on the pull itself? Would it lead him to Arthur?

His breathing slowed, and he relaxed further, feeling the pull of the tide and the push of the wind, the breathing of the earth, even though he was indoors in a crowded city. Sometimes, in the forest, all the quiet _life_ would conspire like this to sneak up on Merlin's senses, impressing itself upon him, reminding him that even in Camelot he wasn't alone, was a part of something bigger. If this was what it felt like to commune with the gods of the Old Religion, Merlin could see why it had hung on for so long before Uther's Purge. The peace of it was tempting to fall into and never climb out of.

Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be a _direction_ to the sensation right now as there had been before, nothing that he thought would lead him to, say, a ship going the right direction. Still, Merlin had faith that when he needed it, his magic would tell him what he needed to know. It had led him to this city, after all.

Eventually his stomach growled, and Merlin opened his eyes to see the sky dimming outside his window. After a moment a bell rang, and in the corridor, Merlin heard a door open and close, followed by another. That must be the call to dinner.

He lit his lamp with a look, and took a moment to check his appearance in the wardrobe mirror. His black boots covered black trousers with a bit of silver trim on the outside seam, held up by a fine tooled leather belt with a silver buckle. The shirt he was wearing was lightweight, white linen, but he had a silk one now, too, just in case he really needed to impress, with silver embroidery at the cuffs and collar. Merlin smoothed his hands over the blue leather vest, adorned with more silver trim, and squinted, trying to see whether tiny dragons added to the collar would look all right or not. As he tilted his head, his new sapphire earring he wore swung and tugged at his earlobe, feeling strange. It was a clip rather than a true piercing, so he could pull it off and go back to being only a servant if he wanted… or if he were attacked, his opponent could pull it off without actually hurting Merlin.

The bell rang again, and Merlin decided that adding more decoration to his clothing could wait. He was hungry, and being "noble" now, he wasn't sure whether he could afford to be late to dinner or not. Instead he ran his hands through his hair quickly, trying to tame it a little, then shut the wardrobe and pulled out his room key. He locked his door behind him, and resisted the urge to skip down the stairs quickly. Arthur would never skip. He'd walk. With dignity.

Merlin could probably pull off arrogance, but he wasn't so sure about the dignity, truth be told.

* * *

 

Dinner was delicious, the food both fresher and more flavorful than Merlin was used to eating. The fish was roasted with exotic seasonings and covered with a mild sauce, the vegetables were hot but somehow still crisp, and the bread was heavenly. It was all Merlin could do to keep himself from stuffing his face like the peasant he really was. Arthur probably would have found something to complain about, if he were here. Or no, he'd only have complained about Merlin's service, more likely. Merlin didn't bother with complaining, too busy enjoying some of the best food he'd had in ages. Even filching from Arthur's plate wasn't the same as having a full meal to himself.

Then he stopped to wonder whether Arthur had eaten anything today, as a captive and possible slave, and suddenly his meal didn't taste nearly as good. Merlin took a swallow of his cider to wash everything down, and to hide the expression on his face. He pushed his plate away, nodding to the servant when she came up and offered to take it.

"Would my lord care for a sweet or a digestive tea?"

Merlin almost said no—almost said that he was going to go back to his room for the night—when the tugging sensation in his heart suddenly flared. He flinched from the force of it, eyes going wide, but looked around the room quickly, trying to see what had changed.

A familiar-looking man had just stepped into the common room, pulling off his gloves and talking to Gaheris. Merlin squinted, trying to think where he'd seen the man before, and then stopped breathing as he realized he'd _scried_ him. This man had been with Arthur the first time Merlin had looked.

His name was Adelbard, according to Morgana's visions. Adelbard.

"My lord?" asked the serving girl.

"Ah. I'll, uh… I'll have both. The sweet and the tea," he said.

The gods were definitely helping Merlin, he thought; there were no other empty seats in the common room except at Merlin's table, and Gaheris was actually leading the other man over, as a different servant laid the dishes and silver for another meal.

That was just fine, thought Merlin.

Adelbard didn't know it yet, but he and Merlin were going to have a _talk_.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has a conversation with Adelbard, then finds a ship to take him to the Continent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a complaint last chapter that Arthur wasn't there, so I wanted to clarify this time around that I'm catching Merlin up to where we last left Arthur. Arthur himself is currently asleep in a stable, doing not much of anything worth writing about. In the morning -- next chapter -- we'll return to his POV, even if it's not for very long.
> 
> For now, enjoy Merlin being clever and a bit of a BAMF, in an understated sort of way.

"Evening, friend," said Adelbard as he sat down. "I hope I'm not disturbing you." He gestured around the room eloquently. "If there were other seats…"

"Good evening to you, too," replied Merlin. He couldn't bring himself to call the man "friend", knowing what he did. "And it's fine. You're not disturbing me."

The servant brought Adelbard his meal, uncovering the plate with a flourish, and poured him a glass of fortified wine. The liquid gleamed like Merlin's ruby pendant in the light from the lamps, and gave Merlin an idea. "Besides, it's a good night for company," he said, smiling easily.

Adelbard nodded, taking a forkful of fish. "Sometimes Gaheris will bring in musicians to play while we eat. I wonder if he will tonight."

"I guess we'll see," said Merlin. "Do you eat here often?"

"Only when I'm in town. My business takes me all across the Five Kingdoms, and sometimes even further than that."

"That's interesting."

Adelbard's chewing slowed, and he looked at Merlin almost suspiciously. "Is it?"

Merlin shrugged, used to playing the idiot in front of people who thought themselves his betters. "I haven't really had much chance to go anywhere myself," he said. "This is my first trip to the city. You must have seen so much on your travels."

It worked; Merlin watched as the other man's shoulders relaxed and he smiled, taking another bite of his dinner. Another servant brought Merlin his dessert: a cake made with ginger and drizzled with honey, and a steaming cup of tea. It even came with a tiny fork so Merlin wouldn't have to get his fingers sticky, which probably would have given the game away all too quickly.

Instead of the fork, though, Merlin picked up the mug of tea and blew on it, closing his eyes as he pretended to inhale the aroma. He focused on Adelbard's wine and whispered, " _Ge-cythan me soth-sagu,_ " feeling the burn behind his eyes as the magic surged up and out.

"Did you say something?" asked Adelbard.

"Talking to myself," said Merlin. "The tea smells like home, a little. Or I may be imagining things. To your health," he added, remembering the most common toast in Uther's court and hoping it wouldn't be out of place here. He sipped the tea, letting it warm him all the way down.

"And to yours," Adelbard answered, lifting his glass. He swallowed a mouthful of wine, and Merlin saw the other man's eyes light up with Merlin's own magic. It was just a flicker, but it was there, and Merlin nearly crowed in triumph. "This port is even better than usual tonight. Remind me to give Gaheris a few extra pennies for it."

"I'll do that," said Merlin.

Merlin focused on his cake, enjoying the bite of the ginger coupled with the sweetness of the honey, and let Adelbard eat his meal in peace. With every sip of his wine, Merlin saw another flicker of his own magic behind the other man's eyes, and he watched as Adelbard grew more and more relaxed. He didn't seem drunk, but he was visibly sleepy, and swaying ever-so-slightly in his seat by the time the servant cleared his plate.

"Would my lord care for a sweet, or a digestive tea?"

Merlin spoke before Adelbard opened his mouth. "Actually, I was just about to help him up to his room; I think he's had a bit too much to drink. I'd hate to see him embarrass himself in front of everyone."

The servant glanced at Adelbard and hid a smile; only Merlin, used to making fun of drunken nobility, caught it. "Of course, my lord. Shall I lead you to his chamber?"

"That would be very helpful."

Adelbard was steady enough on his feet that Merlin only had to guide him with a hand on his shoulder as they went up the stairs behind the servant; when they reached the other man's room, the servant unlocked the door and ushered them in.

"Would you mind waiting out here for just a moment?" Merlin asked. "I just want to see him settled, and then you can lock the door after."

"Of course, my lord."

Inside, Merlin sat Adelbard on his bed, and then stepped back to take the chair at the washing-table. Adelbard was watching him with an open, sleepy-eyed expression. "What's your name?" Merlin asked.

"Adelbard," he said. "Adelbard of Mercia."

"And what is it that you do, Adelbard? Earlier, you said your business takes you all over Albion."

"I said the Five Kingdoms," Adelbard corrected him quietly. "But it may as well be Albion. I'm a procurer."

The only time Merlin had heard that term, the men who'd said it were talking about obtaining a woman from a brothel, and booking her services for the night. "You… find prostitutes?"

"I find people," said Adelbard. "If a man from Picardy is selling a thing, I find the man in Albion who wants to buy it. If he wants to buy something in particular, I find him the man who is selling it. Sometimes I do find whores, though. Sometimes slaves. Mostly it isn't like that. I just make connections between people."

"What sorts of connections have you made recently?"

Adelbard smiled. "Found a special slave for a Saxon hunter, only a couple of days ago."

"What was special about him?"

"My client needed someone with royal blood. I found him a prince."

With an effort, Merlin kept his voice low. Gentle, persuasive. "A prince, really?"

"Son of Uther the Mad. Uther the Bloody. Uther the Butcher. Even if the king figures it out, none of the other kingdoms will help him search for his son."

"Do they hate Arthur?" Adelbard looked confused, so Merlin added, "In your opinion?"

"In my opinion, they don't care about Arthur one way or the other, except maybe as a hope to see him replace his butcher of a father. Hm. Maybe some of the other kingdoms _will_ help, if only to have the son indebted to them. But they wouldn't be doing it for Uther's sake. And that assumes Uther even tells them that his son has gone missing."

"A good point," said Merlin. Adelbard said nothing, only watched Merlin steadily. "This Saxon hunter, did you know his name?"

"He called himself Wulfger," confirmed the man, and Merlin nodded, remembering Morgana's notes.

"Do you know why he needed a slave with royal blood?"

"No. Though it's probably something to do with magic. Blood usually is. He wouldn't have wanted to anger any of the kings of his own land, so he came to me instead."

"Of course," Merlin agreed. "Do you know where Wulfger took Arthur, after you found him?"

"Yes." Adelbard shut his eyes and shook his head a little. "You've done something to me." He still sounded completely calm, a little sleepy.

"I don't know what you mean," said Merlin. Since the other man's eyes were still closed, Merlin called his magic to the surface, feeling it respond inside Adelbard. After a moment, Adelbard settled, and opened his eyes again. "Where did Wulfger take Arthur?"

"There is a slave market in Normandy. A port city called Le Havre. Wulfger is a procurer like me. He paid me to find Uther's boy, but in order to turn a profit on the venture himself, he'll turn and sell him to whoever was really looking for a slave of royal blood."

"Do you know who that is?"

"No."

Merlin bit his lip, wondering if he had time to ask one more question. The servant would be wondering what was taking him so long, no doubt.

"Do people practice magic in Normandy?"

"Of course," said Adelbard. "Uther's Purge couldn't reach across the sea. None of the kingdoms on the Continent give a damn about one madman's vendetta in faraway Albion."

"Of course," said Merlin softly. " _Swefe nu ond for-giete,_ " he whispered. Adelbard's eyes closed and he slumped over; Merlin moved from his chair and caught him before he could hit the floor. With a bit of magic, he removed the man's boots and outer clothes, then tucked him into bed before blowing out the lamp. With any luck, Adelbard would wake with no memory of this conversation, and assume that he'd put himself to bed after too much to drink.

The servant said nothing about having to wait for so long, only locked the door behind Merlin once he'd let himself out. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"

"No, I think—actually, yes." Merlin tilted his head in thought. "Do you know where I could find a ship that sails to Le Havre?"

* * *

 

As it turned out, the servant did. Merlin didn't know a thing about tides, but according to the servant, whose name was Edmund, the ships all depended on them to determine when they left port and when they arrived; more than that, tides didn't always come at the same time every day.

"Most of the merchant ships will be sailing well before sunrise, my lord; or you could wait till tomorrow, about twelve hours later, to see the next round. But if you're in a hurry, my lord, I could take you to the docks now and you could see if anyone has a berth before they set sail tonight. You won't get much sleep, though."

"That's all right," said Merlin. He was used to it, after all, running around after dark to save Arthur's hide in Camelot. How was this any different, except that he was better dressed for it? "Should I bring my things?"

"We'll have time to come back to the inn and get them, if anyone is willing to take you," assured Edmund.

So Merlin got his cloak from his room, appreciating the sheepskin lining around the collar, and went with Edmund down to the docks. He led Merlin first to the customs house, a building just off the largest pier, where captains came to declare their cargo and where it had come from.

"They're open day and night," the servant explained, "and they'll know not only where the ships are bound, but which one is which. Otherwise we might be here all night, asking at each pier and trying to find a captain who isn't too busy to speak to anyone."

"Sounds like you've done that before," said Merlin.

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Not everyone who comes to the inn is willing to listen to a mere servant, if you don't mind my saying so, my lord. They're convinced that they can throw enough money at any obstacle to make it go away."

"I've known people like that," said Merlin.

"Tides don't listen to money," said Edmund, and Merlin caught him hiding a smile.

"Let me guess, you've had people try to convince a captain to order his ship to leave against the tides before?"

"Just so, my lord." They arrived at the customs house, and Edmund looked a little uncomfortable. "Er. It's customary to pay them a little for the information and their trouble," he said. "Not much. It's not a bribe or anything. Just that we disrupt their normal routine, and they like to be rewarded for dealing with us at all."

"I understand," said Merlin, and hoped he had brought enough coin.

As it turned out, he had; only a few silver pennies were needed to tell them the name of five ships all bound for Le Havre, three of which would be leaving with the tide in about four hours. It would be the middle of the night, but Edmund assured him that that was normal, and that the harbormaster would see them safely out of the port and into open water. "We have a lot of ships come and go," he explained. "The harbormaster keeps them from crashing into each other, all trying to get in and out at the same time."

"I'm glad," said Merlin, meaning it.

"The weather is good for this time of night," Edmund went on. "You won't be delayed by storms or anything."

"Let's see which of these three ships will take me, then," said Merlin.

* * *

 

The tug in Merlin's chest came back as soon as they set foot on the boardwalk. Merlin allowed it to pull them forward, and he and Edmund made for the docks as if Merlin knew exactly where to go. Perhaps he did, because the first ship that they found was named the _Young Prince._

"Ahoy," called Edmund, then waited as a crewman stuck his head over the side of the ship's rail, holding up a lantern in the dark. "Are you bound for Le Havre?"

"Aye," answered the sailor. "Who's askin'?"

"He is," said Edmund, aiming his thumb at Merlin. "Do you have room for one more?"

"And a horse," said Merlin.

"And a horse?"

"Stand by," called the sailor. "Let me ask the captain."

After a few minutes, there was a clatter of footsteps as the crewman came down the gangplank to meet them, lantern in hand. "Captain says no room for the horse," he said, "but we can fit a man and his bags. Officer's cabin, if'n ye can pay. Two gold for the crossing. Or one gold if ye're content with a hammock with the crew." He looked Merlin up and down, raising an eyebrow at the earring. "Milord will probably want the cabin, though."

"How long does it take to get to Le Havre?" asked Merlin.

"Depends on the wind and the tide," said the man with a shrug. "Usually about fourteen hours, give or take; bad weather, a few days, if we get blown off course. Shouldn't happen this time of year, though. If you want to be sure, then you want a crew with a sorcerer, which we don't have. But you could try the _Fancy_ , two piers over."

"What would a sorcerer have to do with it?"

The sailor snorted as if Merlin had asked something obvious. "Keep the wind from misbehavin', mostly," he said, making a face as if he were trying to keep himself from saying anything more.

Merlin took a deep breath. He wasn't in Camelot. "What if I could keep the wind from misbehaving?"

The sailor's eyebrows shot up. "You, a sorcerer?" Then he seemed to remember himself. "Pardon me for askin', milord, but it's a bit hard to believe is all."

Merlin let his eyes flash, and a gust of wind blew sideways, ruffling all their hair.

The sailor's jaw dropped. After a moment, he said, "Well, milord. Captain just might pay _you_ , instead of the other way around. And it'd be his cabin rather than the officer's. Wait here, while I ask him."

He turned and jogged up the gangplank before Merlin could say anything, leaving Edmund to study him thoughtfully. "Was that really you, just now?" he asked.

Merlin nodded, unable to say it out loud or to meet the other man's eyes. His heart was thumping with nerves; he'd never revealed himself to so many people in his life, and now between Kentigern, Edmund, and this sailor, he'd more than doubled the number of people who knew what he was.

"Will you be able to keep that up for several hours at a time, or just here and there? The captain will want to know how strong you are."

"I can do it as long as I have to," admitted Merlin.

Edmund let out a low whistle. "I can see why you're wanting to leave Albion, my lord," he said quietly. "Nemeth is friendly to sorcerers, but it's still not always safe here. People like Cenred, or Uther the Mad, sometimes they cross our borders hunting people like you. And we have a strong navy, but not much of an army; there's not a lot Rodor can do."

"I know." It was more correct to say that he hadn't known about Nemeth being a safe haven, but the part about the other kings hunting magic users made perfect sense. Of course, Merlin thought, if he had any brains whatsoever, he'd leave Camelot and stay in Nemeth, or on the Continent, for the rest of his life. Too bad his destiny was to help Arthur restore magic to the land.

"Pardon me for asking, my lord, but is that why you're in such a hurry to leave?"

Merlin gave a little smile and shook his head. "No. Actually I'm looking for someone. If I can find him in time, I might save his life. And then we'll be coming back."

Edmund tipped his head, appraising. "Doesn't sound very safe."

"It's not." Oh boy, was it anything but.

"Well, I wish you luck, for what it's worth," said the servant. "The old gods go with you, and the blessing of the Mother."

Merlin took a breath and let it out, feeling his shoulders drop as his smile became a little warmer. "Thanks."

Just then, footsteps sounded on the gangplank once more, and the sailor came back with the captain behind them. He was a heavyset man with a thick red beard streaked with white, just visible in the lantern light, dressed richly. "My man says you can whistle up the wind," he said without preamble.

"Er. I dunno about _whistling_ ," said Merlin, a bit confused.

"Don't play smart with me. Can you do it or not?"

In response, Merlin brought the gust up again, just as he'd done before. When the captain looked skeptical, he switched the wind's direction, then had it blow straight up, taking the captain's hat with it, and depositing it into Merlin's waiting hands. "I can do it," he said quietly.

"You didn't speak a spell," said the captain.

"I don't always need to." That was true enough; it was also true that he had never commanded the wind before, but doing so now felt as simple as shaping smoke and flame, or playing with the ripples in the water. He had a feeling he could steer the entire ship without anyone at the rudder, if he had a need to. "Do you need anyone to direct the water current?"

The captain's eyes grew wide for a moment, before he coughed to cover his surprise. "Bad luck to do that," he said evenly. "Stirs up the ocean, and too many sorcerers on different ships, all fucking with the currents together, can create a maelstrom out on the open water. Best to stay with the wind, lad."

"All right." He drew himself up, remembering that he was supposed to be a wealthy noble, obsessed with money. "How much?"

"Depends how fast you get us to Le Havre," said the captain, "but if you make it in twelve hours or less, I'll give you a gold crown."

Merlin raised one eyebrow; he might not really be a noble, but even he could tell when he was being undersold. "It was going to cost me two just to spend the trip in the officer's cabin," he replied.

The captain folded his arms with a toothy grin. "Fine, then, what do _you_ think is a fair price, landlubber?"

"I'll take a gold coin for every hour _under_ twelve that it takes us to reach port," said Merlin. Edmund twitched beside him, but said nothing.

"You think you can get us there in less than twelve hours?" The captain began to laugh. "Tide changes every six."

"Then I'll do it in six, and expect six gold for it," said Merlin.

The captain was still grinning, but Merlin thought he saw the gleam of respect in his eyes too. "You've got balls, I'll give you that," he said. "We still can't take your horse."

Merlin shrugged. "Then I'll leave her here." If all went well, he'd be able to find Arthur and be back soon enough anyway; Apple might not even have time to miss him. If things didn't go as planned, well, he had the coin to buy a horse for himself if he had to.

The captain worked his jaw, visibly thinking while he stared Merlin down. Merlin met his gaze and waited calmly. "You'd best be quick, then," he said finally. "We leave in four hours, whether you're on board or not. Hope you don't get seasick."

Merlin hoped so, too, but didn't say so; instead he held his hand out for the captain to shake. The other man took it in a firm, callused grip, his eyes still twinkling, and nodded once, decisively. Then without a backward glance, he turned and stomped up the gangplank, bellowing orders as he went.

"We'd better get your things, my lord," said Edmund. "They really won't wait, no matter how much the captain might like you."

They turned to go, and Merlin felt his heart leap in his chest. _I'm coming, Arthur,_ he thought. _Just hang on._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin boards the ship, performs a little magic, and learns something interesting about the ship's captain.  
> Arthur sleeps, wakes, and suffers through a slave breakfast, inspection, and bath.

With Edmund's help, Merlin was packed and ready to go less than an hour later, the two men somehow managing to carry everything Merlin had brought with him. He'd taken time to give a sleepy Apple a farewell and a treat, and gotten promises from both Edmund and Gaheris that she would be well looked after until he could return.

Merlin hoped it would be soon.

Not long after that, he and Edmund were bringing Merlin's things aboard, stowing them where the steward told them to in the captain's cabin.

"You've been a great help," said Merlin when they were done. "I really don't know what I would have done without you."

"Thank you, my lord, but I'm sure you would have managed fine with anyone else."

"I don't know about that. Here, wait just a second…" Merlin reached into his purse and pulled out a few coins, enough for a day's pay for a servant. He might not be a noble, but he at least knew _exactly_ how much to give to people like Edmund. "For your trouble."

"My lord, I couldn't take this."

"Sure you could," Merlin replied brightly. "And you should, because I'm going to ask you to do one last thing for me."

"What's that?"

"That man who we took up to his room, the one that was sat at my table for dinner. Don't tell him anything about me."

"Er. All right… is that all?"

"It's important."

Edmund lowered his voice. "Because you have magic?"

"Because of my friend who I'm looking for. But yeah—yes—also because of the magic. I'd just rather keep it quiet."

"Of course, my lord. And thank you; this is very generous."

Merlin shrugged. "You deserve it. And you also deserve to get some sleep before you start work in the morning."

Edmund bowed, actually bowed, which was just weird for Merlin. "Thank you, my lord," he said, and took himself off.

According to the steward, there were still a few hours before the tide would change and let the ship leave port, so he was welcome to sleep while he could. The captain would call him when he needed him.

It was tempting to take the steward's suggestion, but there were things Merlin needed to do before he arrived in Normandy, and if he was going to call up the wind during their voyage, he wouldn't have much time once they were underway to do them. So instead, he pulled out his spell book and sat down at the captain's desk. He ruffled the pages with his thumb, letting them fall open to the one he needed. " _To speke many tongues"_ was the title at the top; just what Merlin had been hoping he would find.

Even better, as he read it, he could see that it didn't involve drinking a potion. The subject had to be willing, but that was fine, since Merlin was the subject anyway. The first variation he read would last for as long as Merlin put power into it, perhaps the length of a single conversation. That wouldn't do at all, he thought. The second variation lasted from sunup to sundown, which was better, but the third would endure for an entire month if he did it right. The book warned, however, that the third variation was exponentially more difficult, and only the most powerful of sorcerers could hope to succeed in casting it. " _We include it here only for the sake of completeness, and for the possible practice in learning to extend a spell for a given length of time."_

Well, that was fine with Merlin, too. He might not have much practice, but he was damn powerful. And if the gods really were trying to lead him straight to Arthur, maybe they would do something to make the spell work, too, without him having to spend the entire night getting the pronunciation right.

That was one thing he could thank the dragon for, he supposed: ever since he'd breathed a spell into Merlin to help defeat Sigan, the words in his book had seemed to come easier. Or that might have been his imagination. Either way, the words to _this_ spell were long but not difficult. Merlin was pretty sure he could pull this off with only a few tries.

He took a breath, closed his eyes, and began.

* * *

 

In the end, it took two hours to get the spell exactly right, and then Merlin still wasn't sure if it had really taken, because he was sitting alone in the captain's cabin, and had no one to speak with.

"I'm an idiot," he mumbled to himself. There was a sort of tingle on his tongue and lips as the words came out, and what he heard didn't seem to match what was in his head. Merlin's eyes grew wide and he took a deep breath to dispel the rising panic. What if he'd botched it? What if he only spoke gibberish now?

Just then the door opened, and the captain stalked in, rubbing his eyes and taking off his hat. He nodded to Merlin, but otherwise ignored him as he went to his map table.

"This may seem like a silly question," Merlin tried to say, "but can you understand what I'm saying right now?"

The captain raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "I'd tell you that it is a silly question, except you weren't speaking the Secret Tongue to me before when we negotiated your berth."

Well, it was a relief that the captain understood him, at least, but… "Secret Tongue?"

In response, the other man pushed his sleeve up, revealing a tattoo on his wrist that looked all too familiar to Merlin.

"That's a druid mark." He frowned, confused. "I thought druids lived in the forests."

"Most of us do," the captain replied. "Tied to the land, we are. But some of us are called to the sea, instead. And with Uther the Mad chasing us halfway across Albion, it seemed safest for me and mine to trust to the ocean to care for us, some twenty years back. It's worked so far." His eyes narrowed. "But that still doesn't answer my question."

"Oh. I didn't… er. I didn't realize I was speaking any special language. I just need to be able to understand what people are saying, once we get to Normandy. So I'm—" He paused, clearing his throat. Talking about magic would probably never be easy for him. "I'm trying out a spell for it."

"Ah. I think I've heard that one before."

"It doesn't bother you?"

At that, the captain laughed again. "I'm a druid, boy, you think I'm worried over a little magic? But I'd prefer if you didn't cast anything aboard my ship without telling me about it first. I'll let it go this time, but from now on, you ask my permission. Understood?"

Merlin nodded quickly, before feeling his earring bounce and swing with the motion. "Yes, sir."

"You can call me Gruffydd," he said, putting a hand out. "I'll not give my true name, because I'm not an idiot, but I've answered to Gruffydd for a long time."

"Right," said Merlin. He reached across the desk to shake Gruffydd's hand. "I'm… um. Call me Martin."

The captain grinned knowingly. "Not used to using another name, are you?"

Merlin grimaced a little. "Is it that obvious?"

Gruffydd pointed a thumb at his chest. "Druid."

"Right." That was going to take some getting used to. "Am I still speaking your secret language?"

"You are, but if you concentrate, you'll be able to switch back. Just hear the shape of the words in your head and focus on making your mouth make those shapes."

"Like this?" Merlin asked, going slowly.

"Well done. And that spell can get confused if you're around too many people speaking too many different languages at once. Try to only talk to one person at a time with it, understood?"

"Yeah. Thanks! Thank you. Really."

The captain nodded, his thick beard making the motion look more intimidating than it was probably meant to be. "Any other spells you plan to cast before we're underway?"

"I was hoping to scry for the person I'm looking for," said Merlin.

"Bowl of water, or candle?"

Merlin blinked. He was definitely never going to get used to talking about magic so freely. "B-bowl of water," he said after a moment.

"Bide just a moment." Gruffydd opened the door and said something quietly to someone standing just outside. After he shut it again, he came and sat down at the map table a few paces away, studying Merlin intently. "So where did you learn?" he asked.

"My magic?"

"No, boy, how to embroider. Of course, your magic."

Merlin could feel his cheeks getting red. "Right. Um. See, the thing is, no one really taught me," he said. "I've just sort of… always had it."

"Always had it."

"Yes." Greatly daring, he held out his hand and levitated his book, making it glide a circuit around the desk before bringing it back to rest in front of him again. This was a druid. If he couldn't trust druids, who could he trust? "I was doing things like that before I could walk. Before I could talk, even."

He glanced up, and saw the captain looking at him with wide eyes, quickly concealed behind a calm expression once more. "I think I might already know your true name," he said slowly.

Merlin winced again. "Yeah, maybe. I mean… supposedly the druids call me something different from what my mother does."

"Well, well," said Gruffydd softly. There was a tap at the door, and he called "Enter." He and Merlin watched as the steward from before came and sat a pitcher of water and a silver basin in front of the captain, before he gave a salute and left. "I don't have much magic myself, " he said. "But I still honor the old ways. That bowl has been blessed a hundred times, in prayer to the gods. Should take to your scrying spell a little easier as a result. Do you mind if I watch?"

"I guess not," said Merlin. Actually, he did mind, a little, but how could he refuse? "I mean, it's your ship."

"That it is."

Merlin tried not to feel too self-conscious as he poured the water into the bowl. Scrying needed a clear head, and if he was worried about what the captain thought of him, the spell wouldn't work.

" _Unhelath me Arthur Pendragon_ ," he whispered. He heard the captain grunt, somewhere over his shoulder, and felt the spell fail. Merlin licked his lips nervously. " _Unhelath me Arthur Pendragon_ ," he tried again, pushing more power into it.

This time the spell took, and the water cleared to reveal Arthur, sitting asleep, chained up like a prisoner in a straw-filled cell. Despite being asleep, he still looked worn and weary, and there was several days' growth of beard on his chin. An iron collar around his neck was connected to a long length of chain, which in turn was padlocked around the bars of his cell above him.

No, not a cell, Merlin realized, pulling his focus back. A stall. Arthur was in a stable. It was probably the market where he would be sold, if Merlin couldn't get to him in time.

Arthur was still only in his smallclothes, which were filthy, but he at least seemed to be warm and dry, for the time being. He didn't look obviously injured, just exhausted. Merlin felt his shoulders drop in relief. Merlin could get to him in time, he was sure of it. "I'm coming, Arthur," he whispered, and watched as the prince stirred in his sleep.

With a gesture, Merlin banished the spell.

"Arthur Pendragon?" asked Gruffydd. "Is that the name I heard?"

Merlin nodded. "Kind of a long story."

"Is he in danger?"

"Yes, he is."

The captain stood, reaching for his hat. "We'll be underway in an hour. Get some rest. I'll wake you when it's time to whistle up the wind."

* * *

 

Arthur wasn't sure he would have managed to get to sleep that night, if it weren't for his exhaustion finally catching up to him after days without proper rest. Crude as it may be, the stable was warm and dry, and the straw was deep enough that Arthur couldn't feel the rough floor underneath.

He didn't let himself think about how far he'd fallen, in how short a time. Merlin's home had neither straw nor bed, Arthur remembered, and he'd grown up just fine. Arthur could manage to sleep in a stable for one night.

He was awoken the next morning by someone kicking the stall door, farther up the corridor. A man kept calling the same word, over and over, but it wasn't in Latin or the language of Albion. Still, Arthur heard stirring, the noise of horses nickering and hay being tossed over the stall doors. Apart from the man calling and thumping on the stall doors, there were voices speaking in low tones, and that woman who had been crying the night before started up again.

He might be a slave now, but he would meet his fate on his feet, Arthur decided. The chains at his wrists and ankles clinked, and the leash that kept him in his stall swung and tugged at the collar around his neck, but Arthur still managed to stand before the men could come to his stall.

" _The son of a king,"_ said the sorcerer with a smirk. " _Did you sleep well?"_ When Arthur didn't answer, his expression changed to a sneer. " _Eat,"_ he said, and his companion, a scared-looking boy in rags, passed him a loaf of hard bread from his basket with shaking hands. Arthur was so hungry by now that just the sight of the bread was enough to make him lightheaded; that and the boy's fear were the only things that kept him from trying to reach through the bars and strangle the sorcerer.

The bread was coarse and gritty, with the bottom burned black from where it had rested on the coals or in the oven too long, but it was still food, and Arthur knew he would need his strength for whatever the future held. He tore the loaf in half and picked out the softer inside first, before breaking the crust into pieces to gnaw on. The flavor was… well, some wine definitely would have helped it go down a little better, Arthur thought.

The sorcerer went down the corridor, banging on stalls and calling that word again; Arthur supposed it must mean something like "get up", but he couldn't know for certain. Around him, men and women stood up and took their bread, or stayed down and the boy tossed it through the bars of their stalls.

There wasn't a chamber pot in the stall, but Arthur had a feeling that he wouldn't be given one if he asked. That feeling was confirmed when he saw some of the men go to a corner of their stalls and turn their backs, before Arthur heard the unmistakable sound of them taking care of their business. He felt his cheeks turning red and looked away, giving them what little privacy he could.

He wondered if Merlin would have had as hard a time with any sort of captivity as Arthur was having. So much of what he was enduring seemed to have more to do with stripping him of his dignity… dignity that Arthur had always assumed peasants didn't have. Sleeping on the floor, eating rough bread, being ordered about. They were all things Merlin would have grown up with, right? And yet even a peasant would hate to become a slave. Every man, woman, and child of Ealdor was better off than that boy handing out bread in the corridor.

If he ever found a way out of this and back to Camelot, Arthur told himself, he'd never mistreat a peasant again as long as he lived. And if he ever became king, any slavers found in his land would be executed.

If.

* * *

 

After the bread was distributed, Arthur had nothing better to do than watch as grooms came in and began their morning routine. One by one, horses were taken out of their stalls and groomed, one stable hand working on the animal while another would muck the stall and spread fresh straw. Finally, the horse would go back into its newly-clean stall, and the grooms would begin with the next animal.

Arthur had expected them to ignore the slaves, but when they reached the first stall with a person in it, they unlocked it just the same, leading the man out and chaining him in the corridor by the collar around his neck. He wasn't as heavily shackled as Arthur was, he noticed, wearing only the collar and leg irons, and a loincloth; they gave him a bucket of water and a rag, and the slave set to washing up. One of the men kept an eye on him, with a cudgel at the ready if the slave should try anything, while the other went in and shoveled filth out of the straw, just the same as if he'd been a horse.

If Arthur weren't chained so heavily, he would have thought about fighting back when the two came for him. As it was, he wore leg irons and wrist manacles, and the two sets of bindings were connected by yet another chain so that he could only walk by shuffling and hanging onto the excess so he wouldn't trip. He couldn't even reach up to touch his collar without bending over, and the chain connected to that was locked around the bars of the stall. There would be no rebellion for him today.

Finally it was his turn, or so Arthur thought, but the grooms eyed him nervously and skipped past him, taking the next stall over instead. Arthur frowned, and almost spoke up, but stopped himself instead. He didn't speak the language here, and there was every chance they would just come in and gag him again, as the Saxon had done.

Finally the men finished up and left; each horse and each slave had been brought out, men and women alike, and allowed to wash under supervision. Only Arthur had been passed over, and he couldn't think why that might be.

Not long after, he had his answer. The stable door creaked open again, and this time it was the Saxon himself who entered, followed by the stable hands. He came straight to Arthur's stall and studied him through the bars.

"Björnungr," he said. "Little Bear."

"My _name_ is _Arthur_ ," came the reply, snapped in anger before he could think. Then he nearly flinched, knowing that the man would gag him for the rest of the day and he would have no water.

The Saxon's mouth twitched and he shook his head pityingly. "Not anymore." He gestured, and the stable hands unlocked his door and came in. They were careful, clearly nervous; one carried a pitchfork, and used it to push Arthur back up against the wall to avoid being skewered. Its tines dimpled Arthur's chest as the man pressed it against him, but he seemed careful not to break the skin.

The Saxon was already reaching into his vest for the wad of fabric that would go into Arthur's mouth. Arthur jerked his hands up reflexively to fend him off, but could get them no higher than his chest; meanwhile the Saxon simply grabbed the back of Arthur's head and forced it back, then shoved the gag in with a practiced gesture. Arthur grunted in discomfort, but there was nothing he could do as the man wound the second strip of fabric around his head, sealing his lips shut. He tied it off tight, tighter than it had been, forcing the gag in deep enough that it was hard for Arthur to swallow.

The men stepped back, save for the one with the pitchfork, and while Arthur was still getting his breath back, they unlocked his leash and led him out into the corridor. Arthur stumbled and shuffled over his leg irons, but they only waited until he was out before locking his leash onto a ring set in one wall. A second chain was added to the first, fastened to the opposite wall, holding Arthur in place like a horse about to be worked over by a farrier.

His breath came faster as he began to think of what the Saxon might have in store for him. The man didn't even bother to meet his eyes as he unlocked the chain connecting Arthur's manacles; then Arthur's wrists were brought up and his arms stretched out, before they were each clipped to one of the chains coming off his collar.

He stood there, arms spread wide and helpless, hating every second of it as the Saxon began to _inspect_ him, just like Arthur would a horse. He ducked under Arthur's outstretched arms and stayed behind him the entire time, so that Arthur never knew what was coming next, feeling Arthur's legs and knocking him off-balance to make him pick up his feet, one at a time. He prodded at the muscles in Arthur's arms and buttocks, and ran a hand down the still-healing welts on Arthur's back from when he'd been caned the other day. He shoved Arthur's head forward, squeezing his neck, then tilted him back and felt under his jaw, the way Gaius used to do to check him for illness. He even poked at every scar Arthur bore, perhaps trying to see if they pained Arthur or gave him any trouble.

He ripped what was left of Arthur's smallclothes and pulled them off his body, then inspected there, too. Arthur struggled against the chains then, but it was useless. The Saxon didn't seem interested in sex, his touch impersonal and brusque, but even so, Arthur was trembling with rage and shame by the time the man was done.

Every so often the Saxon would say something in his own language, something Arthur couldn't understand, and one of the stable hands would make a note on a scrap of parchment he held.

Finally, he stepped back in front of Arthur and nodded, seemingly satisfied. He looked past Arthur to someone standing behind him and gestured, and then Arthur cried out in shock as a bucket of ice-cold water was splashed over him. The gag muffled the sound of his gasps and grunts, as a rough rag was scrubbed over his back and shoulders, down to his nakedness, and down each leg. It _hurt_ , the groom being none too gentle and clearly in a hurry to get this part of his job done.

Then they came around to his front and did it again, with a second bucket of water just as frigid as the first. Arthur tried not to cringe, not that it did any good.

He was shivering and covered with goosebumps by the time they wrapped a loincloth around his hips; since he was gagged, they chained his hands behind his back this time, and then finally they led him back to his stall.

Arthur maneuvered until he could shuffle down the wall and sit in the corner, telling himself it was only the cold that was making him shake.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aboard ship, Merlin calls up the wind to get to Le Havre faster. Afterward, he and the captain talk a little more, then they make harbor and Merlin finds a place to stay. The innkeeper agrees to help him find the local slave market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's April 1st, but I don't really do pranks. So here, have another chapter. Merlin and Arthur will be reunited in the next one!

The movement of the ship woke Merlin from a nap; it was still completely dark outside, but the captain's cabin was lit with a hanging lamp that swung to and fro with the motion of the waves. Above him on deck, he could hear the faint cries of the sailors, doing whatever it was sailors did as they got underway.

Merlin sat up and rubbed the grit from his eyes, then took off his earring and rubbed at the pinch on his earlobe. Probably would be best to stick that in his pocket for the time being; he shouldn't have slept with it on anyway.

He was just slipping his boots on when the cabin door opened and Gruffydd came in. "Ah, good, you're already awake," he said. "We've cleared the harbor and the other ships. Time for you to earn your coin. Leave the cloak," he added. "If you make a strong enough wind, that thing'll pull you right overboard."

Merlin yawned and stretched, but nodded as he followed the captain out, then along the deck and up to the ship's forecastle. Without his cloak, it was a little chilly, but not bad. Away from the lights of the shore, the moon was the only source of light, gleaming on the water, and the stars seemed close enough to touch. "You ever sailed before?" asked Gruffydd.

"No, sir," admitted Merlin.

"Are you feeling seasick?"

"No." If anything, the motion was settling something in Merlin, or waking it perhaps; something in his magic was responding to the constant rise and fall of the sea, like a dancer responding to music. "No, I feel fine."

"We want the wind to come at us from back there," said the captain, nodding toward the back of the ship. "The stronger it is, the further toward the stern. If it's too strong and comes at us from the side or front, it'd be dangerous. Don't make it too strong at first, let it build slowly, or you'll snap the lines and rigging. That's assuming you're really strong enough to work up to a gale."

"I'm strong enough," said Merlin.

"If you are who I think you are, that's probably true," allowed Gruffydd, "but all the same, you'll do as I tell you or I'll chuck you into the sea myself. People die if you mess this up, you understand me? It's why I don't usually keep a sorcerer aboard; half of them don't even feel the rhythms of the earth and sea and sky, and most of the rest don't understand them. But we've got cargo to move and money to make, and you've got the son of Uther the Mad to go after for some reason, so if you can get us to shore quickly it'll be all to the good. You mark me?"

"I do, sir," said Merlin.

"All right then, let's see what you can do."

Merlin nodded, and called up a gust experimentally; it was easy, as easy as shaping flame, but something about it didn't feel quite right. With a little frown, he took hold of the railing for balance and closed his eyes, letting the motion of the ship lull him; up, down, side to side. Up, down, side to side. Up, down harder, up again… the water was deep and cold, he knew, and the wind, the wind was blowing from the north, from Albion toward the Continent, just where Merlin wanted to go. Reaching with his senses out through the water, Merlin could faintly feel the edges of land, where the sea no longer held dominion and crashed against the shore, but here the water was free, and the air was wide open, no trees to play with or mountains to swirl around… it wanted to catch on something and push, wanted to carry things hither and yon, whether it was a fallen leaf or the sails of the ship.

Merlin invited it in. He had prayed, hadn't he, at the junction of earth and sea and sky, just as Gruffydd had called it, and here he was right at the boundary between two of the three, the water holding the ship up and the wind pushing it forward. He invited the wind to come and play, coaxing it, calling it, shaping it… he felt his hair being pushed back from his face, and the cold salt spray as the ship dove down and back up once more, always at the mercy of the waves but always mastering them too, as long as the wind cooperated.

So Merlin asked the wind to cooperate, and it did. No gusts this time, no swirls from unexpected directions, just the ever-increasing strength of the sky, moving across the face of the deep, pushing their little bit of wood and canvas, their little fragment of earth, forward, ever forward.

The sea grew curious, or so it seemed to Merlin, rising up to see what Merlin was about, rising up and up, higher and higher, just to feel the push of the air nudging it back down, whipping the waves into crests and foam. There were currents at play, responding to the pull of the tide, and the tide was somehow connected to the moon, and the moon was smiling down on him with the face of a goddess, and Merlin shivered and reached deeper. The swell and dive of the waves grew in rhythm and intensity, each wave pushing the ship forward just as the wind did, the current shifting and pulling, like a horse pulling a cart, pulling the ship along.

Merlin felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped, eyes opening. Gruffydd was staring at him with an expression Merlin didn't know how to read. "Not the currents, boy," he said. "Remember what I told you."

"They want to play." Merlin heard the words come out of his mouth and wasn't quite sure what they meant.

"They play all the time, as it is," said the captain. "Don't encourage them, or we'll face a maelstrom."

"Okay."

He must have closed his eyes again, because he wasn't seeing Gruffydd anymore, only feeling his presence beside Merlin, but that was all right. He didn't feel angry, not like Arthur could be, not like Merlin was whenever he thought about what Arthur was going through. But he _was_ intent on what Merlin was doing, and he did seem a bit… concerned, maybe; so, regretfully, Merlin let the water go and reminded it that it had other business to see to. The current shifted again, almost as if saying farewell, as the waves dropped back to their usual heave and swell, up and down, and side to side.

The wind, though, Merlin could do whatever he wanted with the wind, but he didn't want to force something so playful and carefree. He asked, instead, and coaxed, and laughed as another gust pushed at him, making him stagger sideways into Gruffydd's grip.

"How long can you keep this up?" asked the captain. Why was he shouting? It took a moment for the words to register, and Merlin blinked, trying to focus on him.

"Keep what up?" he asked. "The wind is doing all the work."

Gruffydd squinted at him, even though it was dark and they were lit only by a lamp… or, no, there was no lamp, Merlin's eyes were letting him see in the dark again. Interesting.

The captain took him by the arm and pulled him down to the deck, and then off, into the tiny officers' cabin just below the forecastle. Merlin went, feeling a bit tipsy, a little drunk maybe, and sorry to feel the wind cut off behind him as the other man closed the door.

"'The wind is doing all the work.' Uh-huh," said Gruffydd. "And what are you doing?"

"I just asked nicely," said Merlin. "The wind likes having something to push against and swirl around. The… the mast thingy," he explained, gesturing aimlessly. "And all the ropes and sails, and the people. It feels nice."

"Feels nice," said Gruffydd. "I see. How long do you think it'll stay doing what you want?"

"As long as we need it to," said Merlin confidently. That much, he was sure of. He might not be a bird himself (but maybe he could be, and wasn't that an intriguing thought), but he could feel the wind and what it wanted to do. Merlin was only encouraging it. He could feel the joy and mischief, and wondered if the wind enjoyed stealing people's hats as much as he had always suspected.

"All right then," said the captain. "Get back out there and keep tabs on it, so things don't get out of hand and you wreck my ship. And you stop when I tell you to, and get things settled back down, you understand?"

"Of course."

They stepped back out onto the deck, and the wind hit Merlin with the force of a battering ram, knocking him back a step and into Gryffudd's grip until he leaned into it and got a feel for it once more. In the moonlight, he could see all the sails, stretched taut and straining as the ship leaped forward.

The wind seemed happy to feel him once more. _Merlin_ , it howled, singing in the rigging joyfully as he climbed the steps back up to the forecastle. _Merrrr-liiiin._

Merlin grinned, and spread his arms wide.

* * *

 

Merlin wasn't exactly sure how much time passed before Gruffydd laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed again. He had nearly lost himself in the feel of the wind and the waves, and when he opened his eyes he felt more at peace than he had in a long time. Living in Camelot wasn't exactly good for a sorcerer's sense of calm, after all. This, though, this felt as though he'd gone wandering in the woods outside Ealdor and spent hours listening to the music of the trees and the quiet little lives that inhabited the forest. He took a deep breath, feeling cleansed from the inside out.

"Time to let it go, my lad," said the captain. "Mind you don't create a thunderstorm by accident."

"I won't," said Merlin. Little by little, he coaxed the wind down, gentling it, soothing, thanking, until the waves were no longer being whipped to foam and the hair on his forehead was only being brushed back with gentle fingers. He took another deep breath, releasing this one on a sigh. "That was fun."

Gruffydd studied him under the moonlight, but whatever he saw, he didn't speak of. "Head on back to my cabin, get warmed up," was all he said instead. "Don't want you to take a chill."

"Right."

The steward was waiting just outside the captain's cabin, and opened the door for Merlin, following him inside. The smell of hot tea reached Merlin's nose and he inhaled, noticing his hunger for the first time.

"What time is it?" he asked the steward. "How long was I out there?" Not that it really mattered; Merlin was still halfway in the clouds, he could tell, and nothing really bothered him at all, just now. It was a lovely feeling.

"About five hours, my lord," came the reply. "We've just sighted the first lighthouse at Le Havre, and will be making port within the hour."

Merlin couldn't help but blink at that, making an effort to puzzle out the words. Time. Hours. Oh. "I didn't realize."

Gruffydd ducked his head and stumped into the room, dismissing the steward with a gesture. "I'm not surprised you lost track of time," he said, as the door shut behind him. "I haven't seen a gale like that in years. Decades. But you kept it well in hand."

"The wind just wanted to play," said Merlin, feeling his focus shift. Back outside, out and up…

"Ah-ah-ah, none of that." The captain snapped his fingers a couple of times in Merlin's face, startling him. "Come back _here_ , and let the magic go. And eat something. We haven't much aboard ship, but it's better than nothing. Helps pull your senses back into your body. Otherwise you'll be addled for the rest of the day." He laughed a little. "Rest of the _week_ , given how much power you pulled."

"It didn't feel like very much," said Merlin, but he sat down anyway and pulled the teapot closer. Now that he was aware of his surroundings a little better, he realized he was damp from head to toe, his hair dripping where it curled around his ears, and his fingers were white with cold as he wrapped them around his cup. "Did we make good time?"

"Good time, he asks. Ha!" Gruffydd shook his head, still laughing, and pulled apart a loaf of bread before drizzling honey on it from a jar. He murmured over it, something Merlin couldn't hear, before taking a bite and offering the rest of the loaf to Merlin. "Usual voyage across the Channel takes about fourteen hours if the weather is fair and the currents are with us. You said you'd do it in six."

"Oh." It was possible that Merlin might have overestimated his abilities, in that regard. He hid a grimace behind his teacup, hoping the captain wouldn't give him too hard of a time over it.

"Lad, you did it in _five_. The bell hasn't rung five hours _quite_ yet, we're still at sea for a little longer, but once we've cleared the lighthouse and come into port, it'll be five and a half hours on the nose. No one will believe it if we tell them!"

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Good! It's a miracle from the old gods, is what it is. We'll be able to get our cargo to market before anyone else, get a better price on it, and take our time selling to the highest bidders rather than having to rush. If you weren't on another errand already, I'd ask if you'd like to come aboard permanently."

"Oh," said Merlin, feeling his face heat a little. "Um. Thanks. Happy to help."

Gruffydd snorted. "Happy for the gold I owe you, too, I imagine," he replied. "Six and a half. We agreed on one crown for every hour under twelve that you could give us." He shook his head again and took another bite of his bread. "That'll teach me to make a wager against Emrys."

Merlin jolted, spilling tea over the desk and the back of his hand. "I'm not—I don't know who—" He looked the captain in the eye. "That's not my name." That much, at least, was the truth.

"Mayhap it's not the one your mother gave you, but I reckon you've heard it before, all the same." When Merlin didn't answer, the captain only smiled knowingly. "It's an honor to meet you, even if you're not him. It's rare to find a sorcerer who can _feel_ the sea and the sky like a sea-druid does."

"You'd said something about that before," Merlin remembered.

"Aye, most of them try to force nature to do their bidding. And some are strong enough to succeed. But you'll find you spend less of your own power, and accomplish more, if you ask nicely, so to speak, and try to meet in the middle with the forces of nature. Work _with_ them, rather than against them."

That made sense; Merlin was pretty sure that was what he'd done, anyway. Even so… "There's so much I don't know," he said. So much he would likely never get to learn, because after he found Arthur, he'd be going back to Camelot, and hiding this side of his nature all over again. After the past few days of freedom, he had a feeling it was going to be harder than usual to do.

Destiny was a heavy burden, sometimes. He refilled his tea and took a long swallow, letting the warmth distract him before he could grow too maudlin.

"Going after Uther's son, I suppose I'm not too surprised," said Gruffydd. "If you ever tire of serving him, or of hiding in Camelot, you come to Nemeth and look for druids who can teach you. Portsmouth is my home port in the winter, when it's too rough to sail. I may be on the ocean more often than not, but I still keep in touch with my brethren on land."

It was a generous offer, but Merlin was focused on something else. "I never said I served him," he said slowly. "I'm just looking for him."

The captain only shrugged. "Keep whatever secrets you feel you must," he said. "It's no skin off my nose. But if you really are who I think you are, then you serve the Once and Future King, and it's in all our best interests to help you see him safely back home again."

Merlin didn't answer. Couldn't. It was hard enough letting so many people know he had magic at all, or showing them what he could do. His destiny, however, was private, something between him and Arthur, something that even the prince didn't know about just yet.

"Eat up," said Gruffydd, as he got to his feet. "And clean your clothes before the salt ruins them. After that, you can rest. I'll wake you once we've dropped anchor."

* * *

 

Merlin didn't sleep, despite the captain's suggestion. It was the middle of the night, but playing with the wind had left him feeling as energized and refreshed as if he'd gotten a full night's sleep. Plus, he had a feeling that if he slept now he'd only wake up "addled", as Gruffydd had called it. Instead, he pulled out Morgana's letter and read it over, committing to memory everything she had said about her visions. Certainly what Merlin had managed to scry of Arthur showed him chained up like a slave, or a prisoner; Morgana had left descriptions of everything she could, including the building where Arthur was kept. It matched what Merlin had seen in his own spells, so hopefully that meant Merlin was getting close.

Before long, Merlin heard the noises above him on deck change, and guessed that the ship was coming into port. He pulled his cloak on, packed up Morgana's letters, and made sure his bags were ready to go. Hopefully Gruffydd would spare him a man to help carry everything to whatever inn Merlin ended up finding.

The steward knocked on the cabin door and entered, and nodded at Merlin. "The captain invites you to the helm to watch as we come into port, if you'd like" he said. "Though it's dark, my lord, and there's not much to see."

"I'll come up," said Merlin.

They were just coming into harbor, from what Merlin could tell; the waves were crashing against a breakwater made of piled stone, but inside it, the water was nearly still. The lights of the city reflected serenely, gold to contrast with the moon's silver, as the ship glided along. Men were scrambling to and fro in the rigging, just barely visible in the dark, tucking the sails up and tying them fast. Merlin stayed well out of the way on the aft deck as the captain bellowed orders, and the men in the rigging whistled sharply to signal back and forth.

As they approached the pier, all the sails were put away, until they seemed to be moving only on their own momentum, and then men on the pier were there, catching the ropes that crewmen were hurling over the side. As Merlin watched, the longshoremen hauled the thinner lines in quickly, and he saw that they were attached to much thicker ropes, easily as fat as his arm.

Near Merlin, the captain nodded, and a man standing next to him bellowed out a verse in song, hoarse and loud and distinctly not pretty. The men on both ship and shore began to sing in response, something that Merlin could barely make out the words to, but it had a strong rhythm, and Merlin could see all the men heaving on the ropes in time to the song. The one man would shout-sing a line, and all the others would bellow back in response. It was barely music, but it still stirred him and made something in his heart swell, even though he knew it was only a simple work song. He grinned in wonder, never having seen anything quite like it.

It wasn't long before the ship was tied off at the pier, barely bobbing up and down in the still water of the harbor, and the sailors were putting out the gangplank. "Well," said the captain, "here is where we part ways. Do you know where you'll be staying?"

"Not yet," said Merlin.

"Then I recommend The Sickle and Mistletoe, just outside the wharf area. My steward can show you where it is. It's nice enough that someone dressed like you won't turn too many heads, and if you find your man, he won't turn up his nose at it. It's also a druid-friendly establishment. Thick with magic, half the servants use it. You won't stick out."

"Er. Thanks," said Merlin. Arthur would probably have a conniption if he noticed the magic… but then there was always the chance he might not notice. They might not stay long enough for him to see.

"I've had Steward count out your coin from the ship's treasury," Gruffydd went on. "Half in gold and half in silver, and all in Norman coin so you won't draw suspicion."

"You didn't have to do that," said Merlin. "I mean… thank you, but—"

"Nonsense." The captain lowered his voice and leaned close. "If you are Emrys, it's my duty to help you any way I can. If you're not, well, you still performed a miracle out here at sea, and I'm obliged to say thank you somehow."

"Okay," said Merlin. "Then… you're welcome, I guess."

Gruffydd laughed and clapped Merlin hard on the shoulder, making him stagger. "Gods go with you, boy. May the Mother watch over you in your endeavor."

The language spell Merlin had cast let him know that the second sentence was in another tongue, even though he could understand it perfectly. In the dark, the captain's eyes flickered gold for just the barest instant, and Merlin felt the faint tingle of magic wash over him. It made him a little uncomfortable, seeing how easily the man could just toss a spell his way, even though Merlin could also tell it was just a blessing.

"Thanks. You too."

* * *

 

The steward and one other man carried Merlin's bags so that he didn't have to, allowing him to adopt his "noble" persona and look the part a little more completely. Even though the sun had not even risen yet, the sky just barely beginning to grow light, the area around the Le Havre harbor was awake and alert. Lanterns were lit all along the street, hanging from most entryways or set in windows, and people bustled everywhere he looked, both men and women. Merlin even saw a few children running errands despite the hour, ducking into doorways and back out again, carrying bundles or pouches or scraps of parchment.

The sign at the inn showed, just as Gruffydd had described it, a brightly-painted sickle surrounding a sprig of red-berried mistletoe. In gold underneath it, the letters read _La Faucille et le Gui_. The ship's steward pounded on the window shutter, making it rattle, while Merlin grimaced and adjusted his cloak. Waking people up just to get him a room to go to sleep in seemed so rude, when he could just as easily have taken a spot in the hayloft until morning. If he weren't pretending to be a rich snob, he'd have done exactly that.

The woman who slammed the shutter open glared death at them, until she saw Merlin's outfit; then her expression changed to one of resigned acceptance. "I will be right out, my lord," she said. "Give me a moment to unlock the door."

"Of course," said Merlin, trusting to the spell to do its work. The woman didn't seem to notice anything amiss, only nodding at him and vanishing from the window, to appear a moment later at the door with a large ring of keys in her hand. Her hair was still in its nightcap, and she stifled a yawn as Merlin waited; he felt sorry for disturbing her.

Still, it was time to begin impersonating Arthur, and Arthur never apologized for anything. "I request a private room," he said quietly. "With two beds." His lips and tongue tingled, and he could feel the shape of the words changing as he spoke them.

"My lord is in luck," she said. "We have space for you and your companion. Would my lord prefer to face the street or the courtyard?"

Merlin wasn't sure which Arthur would prefer, once he was found. "Either is fine." Then he thought about how much of a slob Arthur could be, and how much time they might need for him to recover from his ordeal. "Whichever is larger."

"Of course, my lord. Right this way." She turned her back, and he caught her rubbing at her eyes tiredly.

Instead of going up the stairs, she led the three of them through the dark, empty taproom and along a corridor on the ground floor, before selecting a key from her ring and unlocking a door marked with the sickle shape and the number three, painted in gold. With a wave of her hand and a quick spell, two lanterns in the room were lit, then she waved Merlin and the two crewmen inside.

The room was spacious, with white walls and a colorful rug on the hardwood floor. There were two of almost everything—beds, wardrobes, wash stations, and windows—and the windows were decorated with mistletoe and other flowers, painted directly onto the walls surrounding them. The shutters were pulled closed for the night, but they too were painted in bright colors. Between them, a second door opened out onto what Merlin presumed was the courtyard. The table in the middle of the room was large enough to seat six people easily. The entire effect was somehow elegant and homey at the same time.

"Will this be to my lord's satisfaction?" asked the landlady.

"It's perfect," said Merlin. "Thank you for your hospitality."

He realized too late that nobles weren't supposed to say thank you, but the woman's expression seemed to soften when he did, so he supposed there was no harm done. "How long will my lord and his companion be staying?"

"I'm not sure yet. A few days, possibly longer."

"Very good. I saw you had no horse, my lord. Is that correct?" At Merlin's nod, she went on, "Then a crown will keep you and your companion for a week; breakfast and dinner provided, of course. Most of our guests prefer to explore the city during the luncheon hours, but we can provide a meal then, too, if my lord prefers, for an extra five silver pennies." She coughed lightly then. "Paid in advance, if my lord pleases."

Merlin smiled, and dug into his purse for the requisite coin. The steward shifted behind him, and Merlin collected another few pennies to give to him and the other crewman. "Just set my things on the bed," he said. "And thank your captain for his help."

The steward smiled then. "He asked me to convey the same to you, my lord," he said, and bowed. "Save travels to you."

"And to you," said Merlin.

When they were gone, he turned to the landlady once more. "Our keys?" he asked, holding out his hand.

She placed two of them in his hand, heavy iron things with the number three engraved into them. "I am called Violette, my lord. Is there anything else that you require, before I leave you to rest?"

"Two things," said Merlin. "I heard there is a slave market, here in Le Havre. Where is it?"

At this, Violette's expression closed off, and she looked away. "I am sure I wouldn't know, my lord," she said, her tone noticeably colder.

"It's not what you think," he said quickly.  "The companion who will be staying with me—"

"We do not allow slaves on the premises, my lord."

"He's not a _slave_." The anger in Merlin's voice came through, and Violette blinked at it, looking worried. Merlin took a deep breath and forced himself to calm. He wasn't angry at her, after all. "My companion—my friend. He was taken. Kidnapped. I have reason to believe he'll be sold here in Le Havre. I've come to find him and bring him home. I'll buy him back if I have to, but he's not a slave. Not to me."

Violette studied him for a long moment; Merlin simply waited. "If you speak the truth…"

"I do."

She bit her lip, and continued, "…then I can find a boy to take you there. But I do not want anyone to see a slave brought into this establishment from the street. You will both be thrown out by the staff, if I am not there to explain. Bring him around through the courtyard, and come in through _this_ door." She looked away again, worrying her fingers together. "That is, if you find him."

"I'll find him," said Merlin. Already, he could feel the tug in his chest once more, trying to pull him toward Arthur.

She nodded; her expression was still dubious, but she at least appeared willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. "The market opens midmorning, after breakfast. As I said, I will find a boy to take you there."

"That would be very helpful, thank you."

Violette smoothed her hands down her skirt; she was still in a nightdress, he realized, with a robe hastily thrown over it.  "Did my lord require anything else?"

"No. Just wake me for breakfast. I hope you're able to return to your own rest."

"My lord is kind," she said, giving a little curtsey. "I will send someone as soon as the meal is ready."

She shut the door quietly behind her, and Merlin looked around the room once before beginning to put things away. He was here; he'd made it. But the pull in his chest was growing stronger, and he didn't think he'd be able to sleep before it was time to search for Arthur.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is prepared for sale, and Merlin prepares for the performance of his life, before entering the slave market.

Arthur was exhausted, and he wasn't even doing anything.

They'd bound his hands behind him, so that he wouldn't reach up and pull out the gag that the Saxon had forced into his mouth yet again. He had literally nothing to do but sit in the straw of his stall and wait for whatever the slavers decided to do to him next. He was trying not to think about it, but part of him was frantic with the need to move, to pace, to fidget, to pick up a sword and murder every last man who had dared to do this to him. The fact that he couldn't do much more than twitch his leg was driving him mad. He kicked restlessly at the straw, but couldn't even do that effectively with the shackles hampering his movement.

At the same time, he'd been beaten, denied sleep, denied food, and denied water, and even though it had only been a few days since he'd first been stolen away, he felt drained. As his arms tugged reflexively against the bindings, all he wished he could do was sleep, to pull himself away from this living nightmare for a little while and pass the time.

Perhaps they wanted to drive him mad, he thought. Perhaps it made a slave easier to control, if they no longer knew what was real and what wasn't.

The minutes crawled by, stretching into hours. All Arthur could do was watch the sun grow brighter through the high windows, and creep across the wall as it rose. There was a fly buzzing about and banging against the nearest window, and that woman in the back had started weeping again. Her sobs were nearly the only sound in the entire stable, and Arthur almost thought he might kill her, if he were free, just to shut her up.

God, he really was going mad.

Sitting so long in one position should have been restful, but instead it made him ache, physically and mentally, _dying_ for the chance to move, to get up, to do something. He almost stood up to pace the stall, but the thought of anyone seeing him like this, even the other slaves, kept him down. That, and it was hard enough to keep his balance with his arms behind his back, and hard enough to breathe with the damn gag, that it hardly seemed worth the effort.

Time passed.

Arthur heard men come in and talk at the stable entrance, and the sound of horses being removed from their stalls and tacked up for riding.

He heard the whispers of frightened slaves trying to communicate with each other, and wondered why he'd been gagged at all since he couldn't understand a word of what they were saying. No, there was no need to wonder. It was a punishment, he knew, for speaking at all. An attempt to _tame_ him, as if he were some kind of animal.

And yet, he thought, it was working. The fight was nearly drained out of him already, or perhaps that was just hunger and thirst doing their work.

With nothing better to do, Arthur's thoughts turned toward home, and he wondered what his father was doing. If they'd called off the search for his body. If anyone had suspected that he hadn't really gone swimming in that river and drowned.

If anyone missed him.

Perhaps his father was only irritated and disappointed in his son's stupidity, or concerned about the succession now that there was no prince to inherit the throne.

Merlin might miss him. Merlin had seemed to care. Gwen might. Gaius might. Morgana was anybody's guess.

Arthur sighed, and tried to swallow around the gag. He was being maudlin, and he knew it. If the kingdom thought that the prince was dead, there would be days, weeks, of official mourning. There would be a memorial service, at the very least. Of course people would care; of course he would be missed.

But in the grand scheme of things, what would his absence mean to the kingdom? His father could appoint another heir, and every peasant in the land would continue to grow their crops and raise their sheep. Leon would take over the training of the knights.

Merlin would be Gaius's apprentice alone, instead of dividing his time as Arthur's manservant. His life would be the one to face the most disruption, and if anything, it'd be easier for him if Arthur weren't there. God knew Arthur hadn't treated him with anything like respect in the year that he'd been serving the prince.

Somehow they'd managed to become friends despite that, despite the difference in their stations. Not that Arthur had ever admitted it. He shifted in the straw, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't strain his arms. He'd been too obsessed with rank and station and appearances to ever admit to being friends with a lowly servant.

He'd treated Merlin terribly over the entire ordeal with Cedric, and had never apologized, because Merlin was only a servant and he was a prince. Merlin had even called him on it, but until he had, Arthur had pretended he'd done nothing wrong.

And now he'd never get the chance to apologize. Now, here he was in a stall, wearing nothing but a loincloth and chains. No one had so much as glanced at him when he'd been taken from the ship to the market. He'd been invisible, yet he was still the same man. Did that mean that appearances were everything, or that they meant nothing? Certainly, from his experience, the entire concept of "station" was a lie.

Arthur would never fall for that lie again.

More time passed. The fly continued to bang against the window, mindlessly seeking a way out. Arthur tried not to identify with it too much.

He startled from a half-doze when the stable doors opened once more. Grooms were banging on the stalls, shouting that word again, the one that Arthur thought might mean "up". He rolled to his knees, then began struggling to his feet to see what might be happening.

He was only halfway up when they opened the door to his stall, grabbed his arms, and hauled him to his feet. There was no point in struggling, bound as he was, so Arthur just let them, still dimly feeling the instinctive outrage at anyone making free with the royal person, but unable to do a damn thing about it. They brought him outside the stall and closed the door, then moved on, hauling out any other slave who didn't seem to move fast enough for them.

The sorcerer, or whatever he was, was walking down the corridor, giving orders to other stable hands who followed close behind him. One by one, the men and women who had been taken from their stalls were chained by their collars just outside each door. Their leashes were kept short; they could turn around in place, perhaps, but nothing more. Bending their knees would probably strangle them on their collars.

One man was bound with his arms spread out to either side, as Arthur had been for his inspection, so that he couldn't move at all. Others were manacled, and the chains attached to their shackles so that they couldn't raise their arms. A few were given wide, hard leather collars that forced their chins up and made them stand tall.

All the women were made to take off their shifts, and had their hands bound behind their backs, showing off their breasts. Arthur looked away, embarrassed on their behalf. He couldn't see which one had been crying, but she was silent now, perhaps out of fear.

One slave struggled against the stable hands, growling something in that language, and the grooms just punched him in the jaw until he sagged in their grip; then they bound his arms spreadeagled as they had done the other man, and used a bar instead of a chain to connect his ankles, so that he would be unable even to kick or shift his feet. They finished with a leather contraption that went into his mouth and buckled behind his head like a horse's bridle. Arthur's eyes widened, and he hoped they wouldn't do that to him.

Finally they came back around to him. The sorcerer eyed him with amusement. " _Son of a king,_ " he said again. He seemed to like calling Arthur that. " _Do you still think you are a prince?"_

Arthur glared. He would always be a prince, no matter what happened to him. Wouldn't he?

The sorcerer's smile grew wider. " _My friend calls you_ Ursi Catulum," he said in Latin. Bear Cub; the Saxon's constant "Little bear" comments. For the sounds Arthur made when he was gagged _. "Perhaps your new master will give you a different name._ "

Arthur gritted his teeth against the gag as the grooms manhandled him. They turned him around and unlocked his collar; Arthur's neck felt lighter without it at first, but then they shoved one of the wide leather collars he had seen into place, forcing his chin up as they pulled it snug and buckled it. They pushed his hands down, making his back arch uncomfortably; then he felt a cold metal bar lying along his spine, and heard the sounds as it was locked into place between his neck and his wrists. He stood tall now, too, like the others, because he had no choice. Unnaturally tall, the strain making his shoulders ache.

And he'd thought he would go mad from the restrictions to his movement before.

They turned Arthur back around, and the sorcerer was holding up a strip of fabric with something painted on it, something that looked like writing but that Arthur could not make out. He barely had the chance to frown at it, though, before the sorcerer reached up and laid it across his eyes. Arthur tried to jerk back, but the collar held his head firmly in place. He couldn't even turn away.

The sorcerer began to whisper as he wrapped the cloth around Arthur's head, pulling it tight, crisscrossing it in back and in front, and finally tying it into place. Arthur didn't know the words, but he could _feel_ that it was a spell. His entire face was tingling with pins and needles, and he could see sparks of light, sullen and red, dancing at the edge of his vision, even though his eyes were closed. The blindfold seemed to tighten further, all the way around his head, and to mold itself to his face. He had a feeling that even with his hands free he wouldn't have been able to take it off.

When it was done, Arthur could feel himself shaking, and hear his breath coming in quick pants through his nose. He jerked his hands against their manacles, but the chains and the bar held fast. He could only barely twitch the muscles in his arms, to no avail whatsoever.

Someone, the sorcerer probably, patted his stomach. " _Oh, fear not, little cub, you will see again_ _… when your new master sees fit,_ " he said.

Arthur tried to swallow as he heard the footsteps moving away, then the sound of the stable doors being flung open wide. Not long after, voices and more footsteps, and strangers talking as they moved up and down the corridor.

Of course, Arthur realized. Today was market day.

* * *

 

Merlin occupied himself putting his things away in one wardrobe, and Arthur's things in the other; he turned Arthur's bed down and fluffed the pillow before he realized what he was doing and made himself stop. He stood with one hand resting lightly on the table and looked around a little helplessly, unsure what he could do to pass the time before the market opened.

The market. Arthur. Merlin really wanted to charge out and find him right this instant, but he had no choice but to wait; fortunately, that meant he had all the time he needed to make himself _think_ , rather than rushing in without a plan and hoping he could save the day before everything went pear-shaped.

If Morgana was right, Arthur would be at this market, and according to Adelbard, he'd be for sale as a slave. Merlin wouldn't be able to just walk in, kill everyone who held him, and rescue him that way. This wasn't a pack of bandits in the forest, or a mad sorcerer attacking the citadel with gargoyles. He was in a bustling city, in a foreign kingdom, and Uther's letter of marque almost certainly would not let him get away with killing anybody.

Would it let him get away with stealing Arthur away, instead? Merlin bit his lip, then rejected the idea as too risky. Committing any sort of crime and then relying on the letter of marque to absolve him was simply a bad plan. Gaius had said it would probably work more like safe passage, but Merlin wasn't even sure it would be of any use outside of Albion. Did Camelot even have a treaty with Normandy? Did the two kingdoms pay any attention to one another at all?

All right, he thought, forget the letter of marque, then. What would he need, in order to rescue Arthur? According to Morgana, a pile of gold and a lot of attitude. The gold, he had. The attitude, he was less sure of, but he could impersonate Arthur's behavior pretty well after knowing him for a year. Would those two together really be enough?

One by one, Merlin dug out each purse and pouch he'd been given, and emptied them onto his bed. His eyes grew wide, seeing all that money in one place. He'd known he was carrying more cash than he'd ever seen in his life, but seeing it like this…

He shook the thought out of his head and began counting. It took a while, but when he was done, he reckoned about thirty pieces of gold, enough silver to count for five more crowns, and twenty gems left in Morgana's necklace. She'd said that each of those would be worth a few hundred silver pennies apiece, so Merlin assumed two crowns per stone, just to be on the safe side. It might be more. Then there was the gold of the necklace. Should Merlin take it to a goldsmith and convert it to coin?

How much did it cost to buy a slave, anyway?

Regardless, Merlin was looking at roughly seventy to eighty pieces of gold, all added together. Seven or eight _thousand_ silver pennies, and that was a conservative estimate. The jewels might be worth even more. He took a shaky breath and let it out slowly. A goldsmith would be a good idea, he decided. Camelot coin might be suspicious, as Morgana had suggested, but he could easily convert the necklace to local currency.

Separating out the gems would probably be good too; if nothing else, it would give him a way to pass the time before breakfast.

He picked up the necklace, called forth his magic, and got to work.

* * *

 

Merlin finished after about an hour, carefully prying each sapphire and emerald loose from its setting and putting them aside into a pouch of their own. After that was done, he combined Morgana's and Uther's coin and put it into two more pouches, separated by gold and silver. The Norman coin from Gruffydd, he kept loose in the purse so that he could just reach in and pull out a penny when he needed it.

He fiddled with the pouches and purses for another minute before realizing he was only allowing his nerves to get the better of him; he was only putting off the next step in his plan. Merlin could hear doors opening and closing up and down the corridor, and the sound of low, sleepy voices as guests headed to breakfast in the common room. It was time for Merlin to get dressed.

He pulled out the silk shirt, this time, and the quilted velvet doublet instead of the leather vest he'd worn aboard ship. Kentigern and his wife had suggested that he add his "crest" to the collar of the doublet and to the outsides of his boots, so Merlin cast the spell, and watched as the silver embroidered dragons appeared beneath his hands. Small ones the size of his thumbprint on the collar; large ones the size of his palm on the boots. They looked… really ostentatious, truth be told, but he was going for an impression of ridiculous wealth. This outfit should certainly do the trick, he thought; even Arthur, as the prince, only owned one silk shirt himself.

Fortunately, Kentigern had known not to make the clothing too difficult to get into for a man with no actual servants of his own, so it only took a few minutes to slip into the entire outfit. Merlin wasn't sure he'd ever be able to go back to his rough peasant homespun after feeling the soft warmth of the silk against his skin. Too bad he'd probably never have occasion to wear these clothes again, after they returned to Camelot. He could dig them out for Arthur's coronation, perhaps. Or his wedding. But not for much else.

Merlin smoothed his hands over the doublet once it was buttoned, tugging it into place just so and fussing with the collar, then dug his earring out of the pocket and clipped it on. The matching ring on his finger gleamed, and Morgana's ruby pendant seemed to glow with its own inner light where it lay on his chest. The trousers fit him like a second skin and tucked into his new boots without a single wrinkle. Finally, he buckled the belt and Uther's purse into place.

After a bit of thought, he decided to leave Gwen's sword behind. He couldn't really use it anyway, and it was a "peasant" looking sort of blade, with no jeweled hilt or anything like that. It might stand out against his new finery and give the game away, and Merlin couldn't risk being found out.

He took one last look at himself in the wardrobe mirror, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was time to go eat, then find Violette and get a guide to take him to the market.

It was time to find Arthur.

* * *

 

Merlin kept his hands at his side with a conscious effort, trying to keep from fidgeting in his nervousness. Heads had turned when he'd entered the common room for breakfast, guests and servants alike eying him in his finery. Afterward, Violette had loaned him one of her staff to act as a guide for the entire day, and walking through the streets with a servant behind him had caused even more of a fuss. People bowed, and got out of his way. Merchants called, "My lord!" everywhere he went, and held up their wares for him to look at. Merlin was pretty sure a pair of city guardsmen had even _saluted_ him, as they'd passed one another in the street.

The goldsmith had taken the empty settings from Morgana's necklace and converted them to forty more crowns, and even waived the conversion fee because Merlin looked, well, like royalty. Merlin kept wanting to protest, but all he could do as part of his act was nod and pretend that the treatment he was getting was merely his due. In the end, he'd left two crowns behind "accidentally" for the goldsmith to find later.

Finally, it was time. He had over a hundred crowns in his purse, and more in jewels. The tug in Merlin's chest was back with a vengeance, and he walked briskly through the market district, barely a step behind the servant who was supposed to be guiding him. _Soon, Arthur,_ he thought.

They stopped outside a long, low building, not far from the harbor; it looked like a stable, and Merlin could even smell horses and sweet hay above the usual odor of the city. "This is it?" he asked dubiously.

The servant bowed. "They do rent horses out of this stable, but at least half the stalls are for slaves, my lord," he said.

Merlin nodded, taking another deep breath. "Do you know how much a slave is supposed to cost?" he asked in a low voice.

The servant did a poor job of covering his disgust, but answered civilly enough; Merlin was pretty sure Violette had explained to him why he was needed in the first place. "It depends, my lord," he said. "Typically, up to twenty crowns. Those with special skills can go as high as thirty. I've never heard of anyone paying any higher than thirty-five."

Merlin let his breath out in a rush of relief. Thirty-five. He could afford that. He could buy Arthur back.

"All right," he said. "All right. Let's go in."

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but I will wait out here." The man's disgust was even more evident now. Merlin couldn't blame him.

"All right," he said. "Hopefully I won't be long."

* * *

 

The stable doors were thrown wide to admit buyers, but it was still dim and quiet inside after the noise of the street, and Merlin took a moment to let his eyes adjust. _Goddess, if you're listening, now would be a good time to help_ , he thought. The pull of magic in his chest, the one he'd been feeling ever since he'd lost Arthur's trail, had tugged him like Gaius's compass needle right to this spot, but seemed quiet now. It was as if the pull had been a question, and Merlin had finally found its answer.

Arthur had to be here.

Merlin strolled down the central corridor, past the stalls with horses in them, and as his eyes grew used to the dim light, he saw the slaves. Each one wore a collar with a short chain attached, linking them to the bars over the stall doors, with no room to take even a single step away from the walls. Most of the collars were of metal, but some were leather, and broad enough that they forced the wearer's chin up. Some had their wrists chained in front, others in back. Two men were spread out with their arms forced wide and locked in place against the bars of the stall, and one of them wore a bizarre sort of gag in his mouth. They were all bare-chested, even the women, and every last one of them refused to meet his eyes.

The sheer _misery_ in this building was enough to drown a man. How the other buyers wandering up and down managed to ignore it was beyond him.

Merlin swallowed, and walked on, until he spotted a head of golden hair, only a few stalls away. He was the only one out of all the slaves to be wearing a blindfold, and he had a cloth gag as well. He was covered in half-healed bruises, and had a few day's growth of beard on his chin. But even without seeing his face, the scars on the man's body were as familiar as the back of Merlin's own hands. Merlin had seen that body in the bathtub dozens of times, and the mark on his shoulder from the Questing Beast's bite was unmistakable. Merlin had tended that wound personally, not very long ago at all.

He'd found Arthur.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin haggles over Arthur at the slave market, while Arthur, helpless and blindfolded, overhears his purchase and learns that he will be sold to a sorcerer. Merlin creates a diversion, and together they make their escape back to the inn.

Merlin quickened his steps without thinking, until he was standing in front of his friend at long last. The old gods hadn't led him astray; Morgana's visions had been right. Arthur was _here._ It was all Merlin could do not to shout his name and grab him by the shoulders.

No, he reminded himself. No. He couldn't simply break Arthur free and run. He _had_ to play his part. Merlin forced himself to take a step back, and to look Arthur over.

The prince was wearing a loincloth like all the other slaves, instead of his fine linen braies. He was barefoot, and his knees and lower legs were covered in fine scratches, no doubt from traipsing through the forest on his way here. His torso was covered in the bruises Merlin had seen before, but none of them seemed to be serious.

The blindfold Arthur was wearing caught Merlin's eye. There was writing on it, runes painted in a dirty brown stain that Merlin suspected was old blood. Reaching out with his senses, he could feel an enchantment worked into the fabric, and wondered what it might mean.

Arthur's arms were bound behind his back, and his chin forced up by the wide leather collar, so that he stood tall, his posture rigid. Obviously he couldn't see Merlin, but he also gave no sign that he could hear him or was aware of his presence; on the other hand, how could he? Merlin debated whether or not to say anything, to let Arthur know he was here and to give him hope. To let him in on the ruse.

He had opened his mouth and was just on the _point_ of whispering Arthur's name, when he heard brisk footsteps approaching.

"I am afraid this one is not for sale," said a weasely little man who reminded Merlin of Cedric. He had a ridiculous, wispy mustache and beard, as though he'd tried to grow out his facial hair and couldn't, and he wore pale green robes with yellow trim. "My apologies, my lord. May I interest you in something else?"

 _Act like a prat_ , Merlin thought. "No," he said haughtily. "No, I want _this_ one."

"As I said, my lord, I apologize, but he is not for sale. There are other men here, strong men—"

"Not for sale?" Merlin demanded. "Why not? If he isn't for sale, why have him out here at all?"

The Cedric-lookalike bowed obsequiously, with a smarmy expression on his face that made Merlin want to smack him in earnest, whether he was playing a part or not. "I am afraid we have another buyer for him already, my lord. We are merely waiting for the client to arrive, and then we will conduct our business."

"And who is this 'client' of yours, then?" Merlin scoffed, making sure to sound as if he didn't really care, and turning away to look Arthur over some more.

"The great sorcerer, Laurens of Picardy," said not-Cedric. "Surely you have heard of him?"

"Hmph," said Merlin. He hadn't, but he wasn't about to let this slimy merchant know that. "And where _is_ this 'great sorcerer' of yours, hm? He can content himself with a different slave, whenever he finally arrives. I am here _now_ , and I am telling you I want this one, immediately."

"I regret that that will not be possible, my lord," said not-Cedric, a little more firmly this time. "This slave will only go to a sorcerer, and Laurens of Picardy has already spoken for him."

"And yet, Laurens of Picardy is _not here_ , and _I am_ ," said Merlin.

The other man's lips narrowed and his nostrils flared in annoyance. "I suppose this is where you try to convince me _you_ are a sorcerer then, my lord?" he demanded.

A sorcerer. If Merlin revealed himself, it would be yet another person who would know of his magic before Arthur. If he didn't, though, there was no chance he would be able to buy Arthur, for any price.

Put like that, the decision was easy.

Hiding his nerves, Merlin rolled his eyes, then called a flame to his hand. He didn't bother to speak the spell for it, having used this bit of magic as his own personal torch, reading light, and nighttime candle countless times. The act still sent a frisson of fear down his spine, as he half-expected the other man to call for the city guard to haul him away.

Instead, however, the slave merchant's demeanor changed, from defiant to oily and obsequious once more. He bowed, and said, "Forgive me, my lord, I had not realized."

"I don't generally see the need to prove myself to every stranger who asks," said Merlin, covering his relief with a sneer that felt unnatural on his face. "Now, are you selling him or not?"

"My lord, forgive me, it is only that Laurens of Picardy specifically requested a slave of royal blood. We had to import this one specially, just to meet his demand."

Merlin was taller than the other man, and used his height to full advantage, looking down his nose in exactly the manner he'd seen Arthur do to people who annoyed him. "Please explain to me why I should care what this Laurens of Picardy wants."

Not-Cedric clasped his hands together, fidgeting nervously. "My lord…"

Merlin turned away again, tilting his head as if studying Arthur. "Royal blood, you say? How much?"

"A prince, my lord," said the man. "From Albion. Laurens of Picardy did not wish to arouse the wrath of any of the kings nearby, or risk starting a war when a prince from farther away would do just as well. My procurer assures me this one will not be missed."

"I didn't ask how much _royal blood_ , idiot," said Merlin. At least now he wasn't having to fake his annoyance very much. " _How much_ is he? How much _gold_ , what is your price?"

Not-Cedric seemed to dislike being called an idiot, as he drew himself up as well. "For Laurens of Picardy, a price has already been negotiated. For you, my lord, I am afraid the price would be much higher. I do not wish to provoke my client's anger any more than he wishes to provoke the kings of Normandy and Picardy."

"I can deal with Laurens of Picardy," said Merlin, absolutely certain it was the truth. The slaver blanched, glancing nervously between him and Arthur. "And I can make use of royal blood just as well as he can. That's assuming he actually has any. How much?"

"My lord, I can assure you—"

Merlin snapped his fingers impatiently. "I don't care for your assurances. You're dancing around the subject," he said. "Give me a number."

The other man pressed his lips together tightly. "Seventy-five crowns," he said finally.

Merlin nearly reached for his purse then and there, before he remembered what Violette's servant had told him. He also remembered haggling over the price of a suckling piglet, back in Ealdor, when he and his mother had decided to try and raise one for slaughter once. "Ridiculous," he snapped. "You try my patience. I will pay thirty crowns."

"Thirty?" Not-Cedric choked. "Do you think this is some field hand who happens to be able to read and write? He will tell you himself, he is the _son of a king_." Merlin felt the spell shift a little; that last phrase had been in a different language.

Fortunately, it didn't really matter to Merlin what language the other man was speaking. "And I will tell you, you want to sell him only to a sorcerer, well, here I am. Your Laurens of Picardy will have to look elsewhere."

Beside them, Arthur inhaled sharply, and shifted from foot to foot. The shackles around his ankles clinked softly.

"He understands Latin," said the slaver, amused. "Did I not tell you, Bear Cub? You will go to a sorcerer." He turned back to Merlin, still smiling. "The kingdoms of Albion fear magic."

"I am aware," said Merlin. "Honestly, I don't care. My offer was thirty crowns; are you going to take it or not?"

"Laurens was going to pay more than that, my lord," said the man. "Sixty."

Merlin leveled a flat glare at not-Cedric, unimpressed. "Thirty-five."

"Fifty."

Thirty-seven," snapped Merlin. "I've never heard of a slave going for more than thirty-five, and neither have you." He'd never heard of a slave going for any price prior to about twenty minutes ago, but no one else had to know that.

The slaver ground his teeth for a moment, then said grudgingly, "Forty."

"Done," said Merlin. As it happened, he had a pouch full of jewels that should come to almost exactly that amount. He pulled it from his purse and held it up, before tugging on the drawstring and pouring some of them into his hand. "Sapphires and emeralds," he said. "Worth at least two crowns apiece. You can count them."

Not-Cedric blinked in surprise, before recovering. "Let me see them. My lord," he added.

Merlin held out his hand and for the man to pick one; he held it up to the light and squinted. "These are very good quality," he said. "Where did you get them?"

"Does it matter?" asked Merlin. "Will you accept them, or not?"

"If they're all like this, thirteen of them will suffice," admitted the slaver.

"Take them, then," said Merlin, resisting with all his might the urge to grin in triumph. He closed his fist around the jewels, letting them fall one by one into the waiting hands of the slaver, both of them counting until not-Cedric held thirteen jewels. As he put the rest back in the pouch, he asked casually, "The enchantment on his blindfold. What is it?"

"There are two, my lord," said the slaver. "The first is merely to make the blindfold impossible to remove for any but his new master. The second, however, is a compulsion spell. It's already partially activated."

"What does it do?"

"The first person he looks upon will be his new master," said the slaver with a shrug and a smile. "Once he has looked into your eyes, he will be helpless to do anything but obey your every word."

Merlin nodded, feeling dread coil in his gut. He'd found Arthur, he'd _bought_ Arthur, but of course it couldn't be that easy. "Is there a way to break it?" he asked, trying to look disinterested. "So I know what to avoid."

"None that I know of, my lord," he said. "I'm no sorcerer myself. The woman who crafted the enchantment for me hasn't told me of a way to break it. I assume there is nothing for you to worry about."

"Good," lied Merlin.

* * *

 

Blindfolded and bound, Arthur had no way to gauge the passing of time as he stood, chained, outside his stall. He heard men strolling up and down the corridor, and occasionally one would stop in front of him. One ran a hand down his chest and squeezed his bicep, feeling his muscles, making him flinch; each time, though, the sorcerer would come and say something to them, and they would move away. Arthur had no way to know what they were saying; perhaps he was too expensive for them.

After an unknown length of time, another buyer approached Arthur. He only noticed the difference because this man's footsteps were brisk, rather than a leisurely browse through the stable. They stopped a few feet away, then drew closer, the man's boots scuffing in the dirt. Arthur tensed, waiting for the buyer to prod at him, but nothing happened. The silence stretched, and Arthur could feel himself start to sweat.

Then the slaver came up and began speaking once more, saying the same words that he'd said to the other buyers. This man, however, wasn't having it. He spoke for the first time, in a haughty tone of voice that reminded Arthur of himself: royal annoyance at not getting what he wanted. His voice almost sounded familiar to Arthur, but he couldn't imagine where he would have heard it before.

The two men argued for about a minute, before the slaver finished his sentence with, " _Filius a rege."_ Son of a king, in Latin. Arthur gritted his teeth as best he could with the gag filling his mouth. Bad enough that he was to be sold, but the man had to mock him as well.

Then the other man answered, also in Latin. " _And I will tell you, you want to sell him only to a magus, well, here I am. Your Laurentius Picardiae will have to look elsewhere._ "

Magus: a sorcerer. Arthur gasped, fighting for calm. The slaver had already told him that his royal blood made him more valuable. Now he knew why.

" _He understands Latin_ ," said the slaver, obviously taking pleasure in Arthur's fear. " _Did I not tell you, Bear Cub? You will go to a sorcerer._ "

They switched back to the local tongue and Arthur could no longer understand them, but this mind was reeling just the same.

The prospect of slavery itself had been hellish enough. What kind of terrors could a _sorcerer_ put him through? What enchantments would be forced on him? How long would he even live, with his _royal blood_ making him more valuable for a sorcerer's purposes?

And there would be nothing he could do about it, he knew. He knew.

The men argued for a few more minutes before they began to snap short sentences back and forth, sometimes only a single word. Numbers, if Arthur had to guess. They were _haggling_ over him, as if Arthur were a horse or a fine sword. A day's catch of fish.

It was really happening. He was being sold… and to a sorcerer, no less.

Reflexively, Arthur tugged against his manacles, but they held firm just as they always had. There would be no escape. He was being sold, no longer a prince but a slave, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Underneath the blindfold, behind closed lids, he felt the tears of despair well up, and he was as helpless to stop them as he was everything else.

* * *

 

It had worked. Merlin had bought Arthur, and he'd learned about the enchantment on the blindfold. "Now unchain him so that we may leave," said Merlin. "I've no desire to take up any more of your time."

The slaver smirked. "Since you are such a great sorcerer that you think you can _deal with_ Laurens of Picardy, perhaps you should unchain him yourself. Surely you know the spell, my lord."

Of course. The slaver was hedging his bets, taking Merlin's payment now and hoping that this other sorcerer would come and take Arthur from him anyway. Not-Cedric was a petty bully, expecting his more powerful friends to back him up.

Merlin narrowed his eyes, resisting the urge to punch the weasely little man. "Insolent now that you have your money, aren't you?" he remarked. "But fine." The slaver wanted the chains gone, did he? Thought he had the upper hand, did he? Merlin didn't take his eyes off of not-Cedric as he pulled on his power and said softly, _"Tospringe_."

All up and down the corridor, there was the sound of padlocks snapping open and chains clinking to the floor. Behind Arthur, a solid metal bar fell to the ground, and he slumped in visible relief as his hands swung forward.

Stall doors opened, and horses poked their heads out, curious. Slaves lifted their arms, looking at their freed wrists in wide-eyed wonder, before some of them began to run toward the exit. Others, men mostly, clenched their fists and began to close in on not-Cedric's position.

"What? No! What did you do? After them!" called the slaver. He ran two steps, then turned to glare at Merlin. "You—!"

"Oops," said Merlin, with a smirk of his own. "Don't know my own strength sometimes."

"I'll deal with you later," the man promised, before dashing toward the stable doors.

Now that the chains were off him, Arthur had reached up and was yanking at his gag with one hand, dragging it down off his chin and pulling an enormous wad of filthy rag out of his mouth. With the other, he clawed at the buckles of the collar that forced his chin up high. He was making a quiet, frantic little noise that tore at Merlin's heart to hear.

"Arthur," he whispered. "Arthur! Don't, you'll hurt yourself, all right? Let me."

Merlin reached out, but as soon as he touched Arthur, the prince shied away, knocking his head against the stable door. Merlin winced, and tried again. "Let me. It's all right. I'll get it off you, sire, I promise."

Arthur froze, just long enough for Merlin to get the buckles undone. He pulled the collar away gently, then tossed the hateful thing to the floor. "'Sire'?" Arthur whispered. His voice was hoarse. "Who's there?"

"It's Merlin, sire. I'll explain everything, but first we've got to get you out of here."

Arthur reached up to tug on his blindfold; then, when it didn't budge, started clawing at it, trying to get his fingers under the edge of the fabric. He succeeded only in scratching up his own brow and temple, badly enough that it started to bleed.

"It's enchanted, sire. You can't get it off." He took Arthur's hands gently, ignoring his flinch, and pulled them down to clasp in his own. "We'll deal with it later, sire, I promise. But first we have to get you out of here while we still can."

"What's going on?"

"I created a diversion," said Merlin with a little grin. "Come on. Take my elbow, here."

They walked as briskly as they could, Merlin steadying Arthur when he stumbled, until they were outside the stall. Violette's servant was waiting for them, looking uneasy. Around him, the street was chaos, some slaves fleeing successfully while others were caught again, fighting back tooth and nail against their captors, literally kicking and screaming, raising enough of a fuss that it was hard to hear. Some passersby were helping the escapees, while others tried to catch them, and still others simply blocked traffic and gawked in surprise, or laughed at the spectacle. Everywhere Merlin looked he could see scrambling, and shouts and screams filled the air until it was hard to think over the bedlam.

"Is this him, my lord?" asked the servant, leaning in close and raising his voice so they could hear.

"Yes," said Merlin. "Yes, I found him."

"Then we should go before the city guard comes," was the reply. "Someone let all the other slaves loose, and a few horses too. If we hurry, we can get him back to the inn without anyone noticing."

The servant kept to side streets and back alleys, leading them in a roundabout fashion that had Merlin's entire sense of direction confused after only a few blocks. He kept his hand on Arthur's the entire time, while Arthur gripped his elbow tightly and did his best not to trip over unseen obstacles. Merlin could feel a tremble in Arthur's grip, and it made him worry, but he knew better than to say anything about it.

The streets of Le Havre were busy at midmorning, but before long, Violette's servant had led them out of the market district, and it grew a little quieter.

"Is it much farther?" asked Merlin.

"Only another block, my lord," said the servant. He glanced sidelong at Arthur. "Did you steal your friend back from the slavers, or did you buy him?"

"I bought him," said Merlin. "I didn't think I'd be able to get away with stealing him."

The servant nodded. "Did you get a writ for him?"

"A what?"

"A writ," said the servant, "proof of purchase. It would be a little piece of paper describing him, and how much you paid for him. Proof that he's your _property_ , if anyone disputes it," he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "or if he escapes and you want him back."

Merlin grimaced. "Things got a little busy in there before the slaver could give me one," he admitted. "Anyway, he's not really a slave. I was only rescuing him."

"With all the other escaped slaves, they could claim that you stole him," said the servant worriedly. "I hope you don't bring trouble to my mistress's doorstep."

"I hope the same," said Merlin.

* * *

 

Finally they arrived at the right street; Merlin could see the sign for the Sickle and Mistletoe only two buildings away. "Here is where we part ways, my lord," said the servant. "Go down that alley and around the back, and you will see the courtyard from there. Do you have the key to your room?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then go, my lord. My mistress asked me to remind you not to let anyone see you go in with him. She does not permit slaves in the inn."

"I understand."

Merlin guided Arthur the rest of the way, looking over his shoulder all the while. It seemed his skills in sneaking about the citadel had paid off, though, because they made it all the way to his door without incident. He fumbled in his purse for the key; beside him, Arthur stood eerily silent, a frown of concentration on his face. Merlin thought perhaps he was listening to everything around him, since he could not see.

"I'm just getting the key to our room, sire," he said quietly.

Arthur nodded; far too tentatively, in Merlin's opinion.

Finally the lock clicked open, and Merlin ushered his prince inside. "Here," he said. "Here, this is your bed. Come sit, sire. Do you want a bath first, or something to eat, or… or Gaius sent salves and balms and things, we should look you over and see whether you're hurt…"

"I'm not hurt," said Arthur.

Merlin paused. "You're all over bruises, sire."

"It's nothing serious."

"…If you say so." Merlin studied Arthur, who was sitting on the edge of the bed as tense as a bowstring, his fists clutching the edge of the mattress. "What do you want to do first?"

He waited, and after a moment, Arthur asked, "Merlin, is it really you?"

"Of course it is, sire." Merlin sat down on the bed beside him, and rested his hand on Arthur's shoulder. For the first time, he got a good look at the prince's back; it was covered in welts and stripes as if he'd been whipped. The back of his neck had multiple scrapes and cuts where, presumably, the metal collar Merlin had seen had bitten into the skin. He had seen the collar with his spells, but none of these injuries. "What happened to you?" he breathed, horrified. Arthur tensed.

"It's nothing."

"Arthur—"

"I said it's nothing!"

"All right, sire. We can look at them later. For now… when was the last time you ate anything?"

Arthur swallowed heavily once, then twice. "Had some bread this morning," he admitted. "Before that… I don't know. They gave me water, but not food."

"Food it is, then," said Merlin. He moved to stand, but Arthur reached out and snagged his elbow, gripping him tightly.

"Is it really you, Merlin?"

"It's really me, Arthur. I swear it. You're safe now."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur, unable to see, is suspicious that Merlin is who he claims to be; he confronts Merlin and they argue. After their tempers cool, Merlin explains things, and he and Arthur share a meal.

It had been a long several days. Arthur had experienced rage, fear, shame, and despair; he'd been on the edge of delirium from both hunger and exhaustion. He had been manhandled, bound, beaten like an animal, _sold_ like livestock.

Now, he found himself somewhere warm, and quiet, and all he wanted to do was drop into sleep and let the past few days fade away, but he couldn't. He didn't dare let himself relax, not yet… because something wasn't adding up.

Arthur sat hunched on the edge of the bed that "Merlin" had led him to, listening to the other man talk. He _sounded_ like Merlin, to be sure… but there were too many things about him that didn't fit the Merlin Arthur knew.

Merlin didn't speak three languages, just for starters. Arthur had heard Latin, his own language, and whatever foreign tongue everyone here was speaking, all coming from "Merlin's" mouth.

Merlin didn't wear silk. Arthur knew what he'd felt under his fingertips while the other man had guided him here, wherever they were now. Wealthy men wore silk. Even Arthur only had one shirt made from it.

And speaking of wealth, Merlin didn't have the kind of money that a person would need to purchase a slave. They may not have much in the way of slavery in Camelot, but Arthur still knew that purchasing another person for whatever purpose wasn't cheap. _Livestock_ generally wasn't.

Most importantly, Merlin didn't claim to be a sorcerer. He would know better than that.

Whoever this person was, they definitely had magic. They'd said so, and the weasely little merchant had told Arthur plainly that he was to be sold to a sorcerer. After Arthur had been bought, he had felt his chains fall away without anyone touching them. Plus, he'd heard the chaos as other slaves escaped, and the shouting of the merchant. To release everyone at once… that had to have been magic. Arthur couldn't imagine it being anything else.

So who was this person, sitting next to him, touching his shoulder as if he cared, and sounding _just like_ Merlin?

Arthur refused to give him an inch. As far as this impostor was concerned, Arthur wasn't injured, he wasn't in pain, and he wasn't tired. He couldn't come right out and pretend that he wasn't hungry, though, not when the other man asked him directly, but he still regretted even that slip. "Merlin" had insisted that it was really him, that Arthur was safe, but Arthur didn't dare believe it. Not while he still couldn't see a damn thing. Not while there were still too many unanswered questions.

"Right," said the other man, "let me just go talk to the landlady, sire, and we'll see about getting you something to eat."

 _Don't call me that_ , Arthur almost said, but didn't. Instead he listened as the other man—the sorcerer—got up and moved across the room. A door opened and closed, and Arthur heard footsteps moving away.

Immediately, he reached for his blindfold again, wincing as he found the place on his temple where he'd scratched too deeply while trying to get a finger under the fabric. Carefully, he felt along the back of his head, trying to find a knot, or a loose tail of fabric, _anything_ , but if they were there, his fingers passed right over them. He'd suspected as much when the merchant had first put the blindfold on and whispered words over him, when he'd felt the fabric tighten and mold itself to his face. The sorcerer claiming to be Merlin had even said it was enchanted. Still, Arthur had hoped.

Too soon, the door opened again; Arthur tensed, but the sorcerer only said, "She said she'd bring some broth and bread, maybe an apple or some plums or something. I hope that's enough."

"It's fine," said Arthur. In truth, it was enough to set his mouth watering, but there was no way he was going to reveal that.

"Sire?"

Arthur pressed his lips together, and said nothing.

"Sire, what's the matter?" he asked, his footsteps coming closer. "Or, well, probably a stupid question, huh? I mean, I know you're probably not happy about the blindfold, but I promise, we'll figure out a way to get it off y—ow!"

Arthur had waited until the other man put his hand on Arthur's shoulder; then he'd grabbed the man's wrist, and now he was squeezing tightly.

"Arthur, seriously, let go."

"Stop—pretending—to be _him,_ " Arthur snarled.

"Pretending, I don't—Arthur, you're hurting me."

"I don't _care,_ " he said, and squeezed harder, adding a little twist and hearing the other man hiss. Only a little farther and he could break the the other man's arm. "Stop acting like we're _friends_ , _sorcerer_."

"We are friends, you great prat," said "Merlin", and Arthur could hear the pain in his voice. "Get off me!"

" _Make_ me."

"What? No!"

"Why not, _sorcerer_?"

"Because I don't actually want to hurt you, you great numpty, I went to too much damn trouble just to find you!" "Merlin" yanked on his arm, but even with the ordeal Arthur had just gone through, he was stronger. His grip was probably going to leave bruises, and if it were actually Merlin he'd feel bad about that, but there was no way his servant had managed to find him on his own. This was all some sort of cruel trick. It had to be.

"If you're really Merlin, then tell me, where is my _father_? Where are the knights, hm? Where is everyone else that ought to be searching for me?"

"Probably still in Camelot or across Albion, for all I know. Rrgh, Arthur, seriously, this _hurts_."

"You're trying to convince me that my _servant_ is out here alone, in a foreign country, flinging money around like a noble, speaking all these languages he has _no business knowing_ , and on top of all that he's using _magic_? How _stupid_ do you think I am?"

"Well, you know I've always said you were a bit thi- _ow_! Damn you, Arthur Pendragon, what the hell did you want me to do, just leave you there?"

"You're not him."

"I bloody well am, and I can prove it."

Arthur scoffed.

"I can tell you things only I would know!"

It was a trick. It had to be. Arthur hated the way his voice shook when he said, "You're welcome to try."

"That scar on your shoulder is from the Questing Beast. Gaius and I healed you."

"All of Camelot knew I was bitten. Try again."

"You snore, and your sweaty socks would kill a rabbit at fifty paces. Ow!"

" _Try. Again._ "

"You killed the unicorn, and their keeper made you think you were drinking poison in order to save Camelot!"

Arthur froze.

He heard the other man take a deep breath in through his nose. "The day we met," he said, voice shaking, "I called you an ass because you _were_ one. You claimed you could take me apart with one blow and I told _you_ , I could take you apart with even less than that. And I said that because it was _true_ , and it's true because… because I have magic."

Involuntarily, Arthur's grip loosened, just a little.

"You came after me with your stupid _mace_ ," the other man went on, "either not knowing or not caring that a peasant would have no weapons training, and you'd be likely to bash my _skull_ in if I stood my ground— _real_ classy of you by the way—and I used my magic to keep you from landing a blow. _I_ lasted longer against you than most of your knight-hopefuls when you put them through your one-minute test, and all _you_ had to say was I was an _idiot_ , but at least I was a _brave_ idiot. Thanks for that, by the way. And then later that night, I used my magic to save your life when that witch threw her dagger at you, and Uther made me your manservant."

Arthur could feel his jaw sagging in shock. It couldn't be true. It was impossible. And yet. He thrust out his arm, shoving the sorcerer away and listening to him stumble back, hissing in pain.

Pain or not, though, the other man was definitely not done talking. "More recently," he said heatedly, "I saved all of Camelot from Cornelius Bloody Sigan when he possessed the body of Cedric, who was a _thief_ , and who I _told_ you wasn't trustworthy, but you let him kiss your arse and gave him whatever he wanted. _Including_ my job. The only reason I didn't _quit, right_ then and there, was because you're destined to be a great king, and I'm supposedly destined to make sure you live _long_ enough to even _see_ your coronation day, much less rule Albion as high king!"

High king? What?

Arthur's mouth was already hanging open; he shut it with a snap, then took a breath to ask Merlin what he was talking about. But that would mean Arthur was accepting that the other man truly was Merlin.

Could it really be him?

He opened his mouth again, intending to ask the more important question, when he heard a knock at the door.

Merlin—if it really was him—said something in the foreign language, and Arthur heard the door open. A woman's voice spoke, then more footsteps approached, entering the room. There was the sound of a tray being set on a table, and liquid poured into cups. Arthur smelled soup, and it made his mouth water. He put a hand to his stomach to quiet its growling.

The woman said something softly, and while Arthur couldn't understand the words, he knew the sound of a question. Of… worry, perhaps? Concern, certainly. It wasn't a polite, "Will that be all?", in any case.

The sorcerer, who might or might not be Merlin, answered calmly—a lot more calmly than when he'd been yelling at Arthur, just a moment ago. He and the woman conversed quietly, and Arthur pressed his lips together, wishing he knew what the hell they were saying.

Finally the woman seemed satisfied, or at least she had gotten her questions answered. Arthur heard the swish of skirts, then her footsteps moving toward the door. It opened and closed with a soft _snick,_ and Arthur and the other man were alone again.

Arthur waited for possibly-Merlin to say something, but instead he heard more footsteps, the creak of a cupboard door, perhaps, and the sound of rummaging, followed by… clinking?

"What are you doing?" That was not the question Arthur had wanted to ask.

"Getting out the bruise balm that Gaius packed for _you_ , so I can use it on _me_ , thanks very much for that. Ungrateful prat. I followed you clear across Camelot and then across the _sea_ , used more magic in the past few days than I have in _months_ , _revealed_ my magic to _way_ too many people, and I finally find you and this is how you react. See if I save your pompous arse the _next_ time you get in trouble, just you wait. Leave you to get out of it on your own, just you see if I don't. Unbelievable arse…"

Most of that last bit was less spoken to Arthur, and more muttered under his breath, _exactly_ the way that Merlin did when he was annoyed with Arthur. Arthur heard the scraping of something moving across the floor, followed by the creak of wood: a chair, then. Merlin was sitting down.

"What about my food?" he asked warily.

"Come get it yourself, for all I care. I'm not going _near_ you while you're still in a mood to attack the people trying to help you."

Arthur gritted his teeth, then forced himself to speak calmly. "In case it's escaped your notice, I can't see."

"No, I figured that one out all on my own, thanks, sire." Merlin sniffed, then added grudgingly, "It's three steps, straight in front of you to the table."

Arthur stood, feeling the clean floorboards beneath his bare feet, and put a hand out cautiously. It wouldn't really be like Merlin to lead him wrong out of spite, but Arthur still couldn't allow himself to trust that this really was Merlin, either. Even so, he found the table easily enough, and felt along its edge until he found a chair.

There were little noises coming from Merlin's position, and then over the scent of the food, Arthur smelled pungent herbs mixed with grease: Gaius's bruise balm, a scent so familiar that it almost made Arthur dizzy with the rush of memory. It smelled… it smelled like _home_ , and Arthur was hit with a wave of longing so strong it nearly made him weep.

"It's really you," breathed Arthur. He lifted a shaking hand to his face, covering eyes that were already blindfolded. It was an instinct, to try to hide his tears. With his other hand, he clutched the back of the chair, leaning hard against it as he struggled to control his breathing.

There was a long pause, where Arthur heard nothing but the creak of the chair under Merlin's weight. Then:

"Yeah, Arthur," he said quietly. "Yeah, it's really me." At least he didn't sound angry anymore. Tired, maybe. A little sad. Gentle.

The tone of his voice cracked something inside Arthur, and he turned away, shuffling back toward the bed to sit; he hunched over, put his head in his hands, and just breathed. He was somewhere safe. Arthur didn't know precisely where he was, but Merlin was here and it was really him. He swallowed heavily, feeling every ache in his abused body and the fatigue stealing his strength. But it didn't matter, because his ordeal was finally over. He was finally somewhere safe.

With Merlin.

Who had magic.

Arthur would deal with that later.

Merlin's footsteps moved across the room to stop by Arthur's bed, then after a pause, Arthur felt the dip in the mattress as Merlin sat down beside him. He didn't try to pull Arthur in for a hug or anything ridiculous like that… which was good, because if he had, Arthur might not have been able to hold himself together any longer.

It had been a _long_ few days; Arthur could admit, if only to himself, that he really was nearly at the end of his rope.

After a few minutes, Arthur sniffed, and dropped his hand away from his face. He reached over toward Merlin, pausing as he noted the other man's flinch. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"It's bruised pretty deeply," admitted Merlin. "Might be a little stiff tomorrow."

"I'm sorry."

"'S okay."

It wasn't, but Arthur appreciated the thought all the same. He let himself touch, carefully this time, rubbing the silk of Merlin's sleeve between finger and thumb. "Doesn't feel like you," he said.

"I'm in disguise," said Merlin. "It was Morgana's idea. She said that if you'd been kidnapped, there might be a ransom demand, but no one would listen to a servant, a peasant, trying to negotiate for your release. Someone wealthy, though… she thought I might have better luck if I was dressed up as a noble, or a merchant or something. And she was right."

"Is that where the money came from?" Arthur asked. "Morgana?"

"Some of it, yeah. The king gave me some, too. And Gaius and Gwen pitched in a bit. It's… kind of a lot."

Arthur frowned. "My father gave you money to come find me."

"I was the one who convinced him you were still alive," said Merlin. "Everyone else thought you'd gone for a swim in a flooded river and then drowned." His tone turned teasing as he added, "I knew you weren't _that_ thick."

"Shut up." Arthur sobered, though, coming back to the topic. "Why did my father give _you_ money?"

"Well, I pointed out that sometimes people are afraid to talk to his knights, or him, even if they mean well, because they don't want to be implicated in whatever crime he's angry about that day. I told him a servant like me would be more… approachable, I guess. So he agreed I should be allowed to ask around, see what I could find, see if I could find you where the knights hadn't. But he also more or less told me I was expendable, and not to bother coming back without you." Merlin was sitting close enough to Arthur that he felt it when Merlin shrugged. "I expect he's sent several other people out, too, in different directions. Not just me."

"But you were the one to find me," said Arthur.

"Looks like, yeah."

Arthur swallowed. "Because you have… magic," he said.

"Yes, sire," said Merlin.

"Is that why you speak so many languages? So you can study sorcery?"

"No." Merlin huffed a little laugh. "It's actually the other way around. There's a spell that lets me communicate in whatever language I need. It'll wear off eventually."

"And you'll go back to being your usual idiot self," Arthur said. He made himself keep the tone light, teasing, but of course Merlin caught what he wasn't saying.

 "This wasn't how I wanted you to find out," he said with a sigh. "You know, for what it's worth."

"How did you want me to find out?"

"…I don't know."

* * *

 

Arthur wanted to ask more about that, demand to know Merlin's agenda, figure out what he could possibly want in Camelot of all places, but his stomach growled just then and Merlin started speaking before Arthur could ask.

"Here," he said, "let's get you some of this broth before it goes cold." He led Arthur to the table and sat him down, then pressed a cup into his hands. "Are you thirsty?"

"What is it?" asked Arthur. He held the cup close, but could smell nothing.

"It's only water, sire. Violette wasn't sure wine would be a good idea while you're recovering."

Arthur touched the cup to his lips and drank, remembering only too well the taste of the water from the Saxon's water skin, and the feel of being denied a drink while he was gagged. This water was cool and sweet, and before Arthur knew it, he had drained the cup. "Is there more?"

"Of course." Merlin took the cup gently, and Arthur listened as he refilled it. "Do you want this, or the broth first?"

Arthur's mouth twisted in distaste. "I'm not an invalid, Merlin, I don't need _broth_."

"Well, we had no way to know that, did we, sire?" came the retort. "Those men could have done anything to you. If you don't drink it, I will. It's good chicken broth, and there's herbs and things in it."

"Fine," said Arthur. "I'll have a little. You can have the rest. Just save me the plums."

"All of them? I haven't eaten since breakfast either."

"You can have one. I haven't eaten since I was taken," countered Arthur. "Except for the bread they gave me this morning. Nasty stuff."

They shared the food the woman had brought in companionable silence for a few minutes; the broth was savory, and the plums were sweet, the bread fresh baked and not at all gritty. Unable to see, Arthur felt as though he could savor the flavors better, and found himself appreciating the textures of everything he ate. As simple as it was, this seemed to Arthur to be a better meal than many feasts he'd eaten, and he could feel his spirits lifting.

Finally, Merlin broke the silence between them. "I brought your clothes and things," he said. "But I thought you might want me to look at any injuries first, or maybe draw you a bath if you wanted."

Arthur thought of the icy cold buckets of water splashed over him this morning, and shuddered.

"Sire?"

"Nothing. Just… I washed up a little this morning. But my feet are probably disgusting. I'm not getting dressed until they're clean."

"I can arrange that," assured Merlin. "Do you want just a foot bath, or a full size tub?"

The idea sounded heavenly, but now that he'd eaten, Arthur could feel exhaustion pulling at him once more. "A full bath can wait until tomorrow, I think," he said. "But I can't sleep until my feet are clean. I can't even imagine dragging all this filth into the bed."

"Will you let me look at your back, too?" asked Merlin cautiously. "I know you said it was nothing, but… you were beaten, Arthur, I know you were. I know what switch marks look like. And your neck is all cut up, from…"

Arthur couldn't help the flinch, remembering the pain and the helplessness as the merchant had whipped him. The way the Saxon had kept referring to him as "little bear", because of the noises he made while he was gagged. The assurance that he'd taken slaves before, and every one of them had vowed to kill that man, yet none of them had.

Before he knew it, Arthur was shuddering.

"Arthur?"

"It's nothing," he tried, but Merlin wasn't having it.

"Sire, please. Tell me what's wrong."

Arthur shook his head, but continued to shiver. "It's finally over," he gasped, and this time he allowed it as Merlin pulled him close.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur asks for a bath before he can sleep; Merlin speaks to the innkeeper, who sees through his disguise. Later, Merlin and Arthur begin to discuss magic while Merlin cares for Arthur. Finally, Merlin begins to study the enchantment on Arthur's blindfold, while Arthur rests.

Merlin's heart broke at seeing his prince this vulnerable, this close to broken. He vowed to himself that he would do whatever it took to help Arthur heal, if he couldn't heal on his own.

Naturally, Arthur only tolerated the hug for a few moments before he was shrugging Merlin off. "I'm not a girl," he muttered, but his voice was still suspiciously thick.

Merlin nodded, before remembering that Arthur couldn't see it. "Yes, sire," he said instead. "Have you had enough to eat?"

Arthur nodded. "Go see about that foot bath," he said. "Either that, or figure out how to get this damn blindfold off me."

Merlin grimaced. "It's not the taking it off that's the problem, sire. It's only enchanted so that _you_ can't remove it."

Arthur drew himself up, and Merlin didn't miss the way his hands clenched into fists. "Then why haven't you taken it off yet?" he demanded.

"Because there are actually two enchantments on it, and I haven't had time to figure out how to break the other one."

"…What does it do?" he asked warily. When Merlin didn't answer right away, he reached out, groping for Merlin's arm and squeezing. Merlin was just grateful that it wasn't his injured wrist this time. "Tell me, Merlin."

"You'll be compelled to obey the first person you see," said Merlin. "The man at the market said that once you looked into their eyes, you'd be helpless to obey their every whim." He looked away, tangling his fingers together. "Even if it were only me, even if you trust me, I didn't think you would really want me to be…" He trailed off, unwilling to say it.

"My… master," finished Arthur.

"Yeah, that."

Arthur said nothing, but even under the blindfold, Merlin could see his expression fall and the way his face actually seemed to go pale.

"I'll figure it out, I promise! There has to be a way around it. It's like a puzzle, or a riddle, sire. I just have to figure out how to solve it." He smiled, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. "And I'm usually pretty good at riddles."

"You figured out the riddle Anhora gave us at Gedref," allowed Arthur. "Two cups, but only one poisoned…"

"I remember." This time Merlin's smile was a little more genuine. "We'll solve this together, Arthur. You'll see."

It took a moment, but finally Arthur nodded, with a hint of the decisiveness Merlin was used to. "We will," he said. "In the meantime, see about that bath."

* * *

 

"How is he, my lord?" asked Violette, when Merlin returned to the common room, carrying the tray with the remains of their lunch. She still looked at him skeptically, as if unsure Merlin had been telling the truth about Arthur not actually being his slave; Merlin couldn't really say that he blamed her, given appearances. "Was the meal sufficient?"

"He ate most of it, yes," said Merlin. "He told me that he hadn't had anything to eat since he was taken. Only a little bread this morning. But now that he's got something in his stomach, he wants to get cleaned up and go to sleep. I was going to see if you had a washtub we could use, and hot water."

Violette was looking at him strangely, but she nodded readily enough. "I'll bring the tub," she said, "but we generally heat the water as we need it, with spells. Will that be a problem, my lord?"

"Oh. Spells, right. I hadn't thought of that. No, it won't be a problem." As soon as Merlin said it, he hoped he was right. Magic didn't bother _him_ most of the time, but Arthur might not like it at all.

Violette frowned, seeming almost worried; she glanced past Merlin's shoulder, then dropped her gaze. "I will bring the water, my lord," she said, holding her hands out for the tray.

Merlin handed it to her, wondering if he'd done something wrong. As a wealthy snob, though, he couldn't ask. "Thank you," he said instead, biting his lip at the way she studied his face before turning away.

Violette handed the tray to one of her servants, and gave the order for the tub to be brought to Merlin's room, then began walking with him up the corridor. "The closest pump is in the courtyard," she said, "so if my lord could unlock that door, it will be much faster to bring the water in."

"I will," said Merlin.

The landlady studied his once more, before glancing over her shoulder at the common room, and lowering her voice. "Forgive me for asking this, my lord, but… are you actually a lord?"

Merlin froze mid-step, completely caught between the option of drawing himself up and acting like a prat, or confessing the truth. "I—um," he stammered, mouth opening and closing a few times, until he cursed himself for acting like a guilty criminal. "What makes you say that?"

Violette's expression softened. "You are… _kind_. You ask rather than demand. You brought me the tray of food I carried to your room earlier, rather than asking for a servant to clean it up." Merlin glanced down at his hands, and blushed. "You are uncomfortable with our magic."

"I'm not," replied Merlin. "Really. I'm just not used to seeing it used so… openly." _Or in ways that aren't intended to kill somebody,_ he thought. "We're not from Normandy, you see."

Violette nodded. "You insist that this man is not your slave, and you behave as though you wish to serve him," she persisted.

"I do serve him," Merlin admitted. "Remember, I told you he was taken, and brought here to be sold. That was so no one in my land could find him. I was lucky to track him down before he could be sold to someone else, and lost forever." Merlin took a breath, steeling himself for her answer. "Is that a problem?" The ship captain, Gruffydd, had said that this inn would be the best place for them to stay while Arthur recovered; if he'd been wrong, if Merlin had to move Arthur elsewhere, he wasn't sure what he would do.

"No, no; so long as he is not a slave, I have no reason to ask you to leave. But I admit that I am curious," she added. "May I ask who he is really?"

Merlin bit his lip, unable to meet her eyes. "For his safety, I'd rather not say. If he decides to tell you himself, that is up to him."

The landlady studied his face for a long moment before she finally nodded again. "We will bring the water in only a moment… my lord."

Merlin smiled in relief. Yes, she'd seen through his disguise, but then, so far almost everyone else had, too, if he needed to keep up his performance for more than a few minutes. He was probably not the best actor in the world, come to think of it. Still, Merlin's acting skills didn't really matter as long as he could get Arthur home safely.

"That will be acceptable," he said, with an extra helping of haughtiness, just to see Violette's eyes twinkle as she fought a smile of her own.

* * *

 

Arthur tensed as the door opened, mentally cursing his blindness, before Merlin called out softly to identify himself. They needed to get this damned blindfold off so that Arthur could go home as he wanted. That, or hunt down the slavers and kill them, and then go home.

"They'll bring the water in from the courtyard," Merlin was saying, as his footsteps crossed the floor. Arthur heard the sound of a key in a lock, and frowned, confused.

"We have more than one door?" he asked.

"That's the door to the corridor, yeah," said Merlin. "This is the door to the courtyard. They've got a pump out there."

Arthur had somehow missed that before. "I must be more tired than I'd thought," he admitted.

"It's all right, sire," Merlin replied. "We'll get you cleaned up and into bed; you'll feel better after a few hours' rest. I'll wake you for dinner."

"What will you be doing?"

"Trying to figure out how to break the enchantment on your blindfold." Arthur hid his shudder as Merlin went on, "Would you like me to look at your back before they get here with the tub and everything? I can see if anything needs ointment before we get you into a nightshirt."

One corner of Arthur's mouth turned up in amusement. "You brought my clothes, _and_ a nightshirt?" he asked.

"I brought a little of everything," said Merlin. "Except a sword for you, although Gwen gave me a blade for me to use on the road if I needed it. It's not very fancy, and it's shorter than the one you usually carry, but once you can see again, if you want to use it…"

It would be a relief to have a weapon in his hand; Arthur was touched by the gesture. "What about you?"

Merlin paused, then said quietly, "I've never really needed one. Couldn't really tell Gwen that, though."

Arthur turned his head away instinctively, not wanting Merlin to see the expression on his face even if he couldn't see Merlin. Later; he'd deal with Merlin's magic _later_. "Come look at my back," he said reluctantly, hating the unease he felt. If it were anyone else but Merlin, if Arthur were able to see to tend his own injuries, then he wouldn't tolerate a sorcerer at his back.

Could he tolerate Merlin? A sorcerer, albeit someone he knew, touching him? Arthur supposed he would find out.

Hard to imagine that he knew a sorcerer who wasn't trying to kill him.

He listened as Merlin puttered about the room, presumably collecting Gaius's ointments or a shirt for Arthur, or something like that. Merlin was less talkative than Arthur remembered him being, and Arthur wondered if he felt nervous about having revealed his magic. The idea that Merlin might be just as uneasy as Arthur helped, a little; the thought that he was just as uncomfortable as Arthur was reassuring.

Finally Merlin's footsteps approached once more, and Arthur felt the dip in his mattress as the other man sat. "Here, turn 'round," he said quietly. Arthur's hands twitched, but he did as Merlin suggested, holding his breath as Merlin leaned in close. Arthur could feel the warmth from his body, and his breath across his shoulders, as Merlin hummed and looked him over. "These don't seem as bad as I feared," he said after a moment. "But a couple of them did break the skin. I'll put ointment on them, just in case. If nothing else, it should soothe the pain a little."

"Just get on with it," said Arthur.

Merlin's fingers were careful, and his touch familiar; as Merlin worked, Arthur could feel himself relaxing despite his misgivings. The ointment's sting gave way to a tingling coolness that was also familiar, and Arthur blew out a breath as his tension eased.

"Is it helping?" asked Merlin.

"A bit," Arthur replied. It was helping enough that Arthur could feel his fatigue stealing over him again; since they'd come to this inn, anger or fear had repeatedly pushed it back for a few minutes at a time, and then Merlin would find a way to soothe him and it would return once more. Even knowing that he had a sorcerer behind him, knowing that _Merlin_ was a sorcerer, Arthur still relaxed enough to let his head hang down, reaching up to rub at his forehead above the blindfold.

He was almost dozing when he heard Merlin say quietly, "All done." The mattress shifted as the other man got up. "Let me just get your night shirt, all right, sire?"

Arthur's head felt heavy as he nodded. "Fine."

He struggled into the shirt, the worn linen feeling divine even over his abraded back, after having gone mostly naked for days. He thought he could use a pair of braies instead of a slave's loincloth, as well, but that could probably wait until his feet and legs were clean. Just having something covering his arms was a blessing at the moment.

Just as he was finishing getting dressed, there was a light knock on the courtyard door, and he immediately heard Merlin go to open it. Arthur shuffled his feet awkwardly against the bare wood of the floor, hating that anyone else would see him like this. Perhaps the only comfort was that they were total strangers and he would never have to encounter them again, once he and Merlin left this place.

Arthur could do nothing but wait as they brought the tub in, set it near his feet, and began to fill it. A bit of the water splashed on his toes, cold, and he curled them up in reflex. A woman said something, Merlin answering quietly.

There was a pause, then the woman spoke a series of words that made the hair on Arthur's arms stand on end. The words seemed almost to hiss and growl, filling the air of their own accord, and Arthur clenched his fists, desperately wishing he had his sword near. Just when he thought she would attack, though, the woman spoke once more, in a normal tone of voice; Merlin answered her again, and then Arthur heard the courtyard door close.

"What the hell was that?" he asked immediately. "At the end there. What did she say?"

"Oh, um, Violette, she uh… well…"

"Stop stammering like a half-wit and answer me."

"The landlady used magic to heat the water," said Merlin carefully. "For your bath."

Arthur actually felt his mouth go dry and metallic-tasting with shock. "She what."

"I said—"

"I know what you said, Merlin, I want to know how you thought it was a good idea to let another _sorceress_ just waltz in here and cast spells however she pleases!"

"Well, she's the landlady, it's not like I can just tell her to go away," said Merlin. He sounded annoyed but also like he was trying to get Arthur to see reason, and the thought infuriated him.

"She's a _sorceress_! She has magic, Merlin; that makes her dangerous."

He heard Merlin's swift intake of breath, before he said evenly, " _I_ have magic, Arthur. Do you think I'm dangerous?"

It was Arthur's turn to pause, grinding his teeth. "I haven't decided yet," he admitted.

"I see," said Merlin. "Well, I'll just remind you that you can't behead me here, because we're not _in_ Camelot right now, and Uther's laws don't apply. The landlady has magic. I've been told that half of the inn's _staff_ has magic in one form or another. I was also told this would be a good place for us to stay while you recovered, because my own magic wouldn't stand out, and because the inn was known to be friendly to druids. Who are _peaceful_ , if you'll recall."

Arthur couldn't repress the shudder this time. Later. He'd promised himself he would deal with Merlin's magic _later_ , and he was certainly still too tired and defenseless to deal with it now. "Just… get over here and help me wash my feet," he said.

"You would rather ignore it, wouldn't you," Merlin replied. "My magic. Just pretend it doesn't exist. It brought me here to you, it's _saved your life_ , more than once, but even that isn't enough for you, is it?"

" _Not now,_ Merlin." Arthur took a deep breath, willing himself to calm. "This is not the time for this discussion. When I can see again, when I'm not sitting here in my _underwear_ , when I've had a chance to rest and eat, then we will discuss your magic. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you were to just _do as you're told, for once in your life._ "

Arthur imagined that Merlin was gritting his own teeth when he finally answered, "Fine." There were footsteps approaching, and Arthur tensed, before he heard the rustle of clothing and the sound of Merlin getting down on the floor. "Give me your foot," he said.

Arthur paused, suddenly realizing just how much trust he was putting in Merlin, despite the magic. He was exhausted and defenseless, and it was affecting his thinking, and definitely affecting his choices. Merlin could do anything, and Arthur would be unable to stop him.

Still, Merlin only waited, saying nothing; after a moment, Arthur gave in and lifted one leg. He flinched at the touch coming out of nowhere, but even so, Merlin's hands were gentle as he guided Arthur's foot over and into the tub. The water was blissfully hot, and despite his misgivings, Arthur couldn't help the sigh that escaped as his muscles relaxed. There were little stings in the places that Arthur knew he'd been scratched and cut in the forest, tripping over brambles and whatnot, but even that pain was nothing compared to the relief he felt.

Merlin's touch shouldn't have been as soothing as it was, as he rubbed soap into the soles of Arthur's feet and between his toes, massaging out the tension and the ache of having gone everywhere barefoot for days. A sorcerer was washing Arthur's feet. It was… decidedly odd.

"You've lied to me, all this time," Arthur murmured.

He could imagine Merlin shrugging. "If I had told you, you'd have chopped my head off. Or told your father, which amounts to the same thing."

"I don't know what I would have done." Although Merlin was almost certainly right, whether Arthur ever admitted it or not. "If you were anybody else…"

"Why should that make a difference?"

"Magic is dangerous, Merlin. Even if I don't always agree with my father that it's pure evil. I don't know why you chose to study it, but it stops—"

"I didn't," Merlin cut him off. "I didn't choose to study it. I was born with it. And I can't stop. I tried once, and it was awful."

Arthur huffed. He could just imagine. "What, just because you didn't like doing things the normal way…"

"No, I mean I got sick and nearly died. I was seven years old. Mum didn't want me to get caught doing magic, so I tried to stop so she wouldn't be so worried. Then I got sick, and she had to beg me to use it again, to let it out, so it wouldn't kill me. Magic is… it's like breathing, for me, Arthur. I can't stop."

Arthur wondered if that was even true. And if it was… he wondered how many other sorcerers were like that, how many people his father had slaughtered for no other reason than having something they couldn't help but find a way to live with. But he couldn't dwell on that right now; that was something else to consider some other time. "If you were anybody else, Merlin…" he shook his head. Magic was dangerous. It was hard to imagine harmless, bumbling Merlin as having any kind of power at all.

Merlin sighed. "Too bad you're stuck with me."

* * *

 

They didn't talk much after that; Merlin tried not to let his disappointment show, but it was also clear to him that Arthur was flagging. He'd been through a lot in the past several days. Maybe it wasn't fair to have sprung a magic declaration on him on top of everything else he'd had to face.

On the other hand, it wasn't like Merlin had been given a lot of choice in the matter.

He sighed, quietly enough that Arthur wouldn't hear it, and kept working. Arthur's feet were absolutely black with dirt, and Merlin shuddered to think of the way he'd been forced to walk the city streets with no shoes, never mind the forest with its sharp sticks and little rocks to pierce and poke the soles and his heels. It was a miracle that Merlin didn't find any obvious injuries as he scrubbed the filth away.

The water turned gray with soap and grime, but grew no cooler as he worked; glancing up, he saw Arthur nodding as the heat of the water relaxed him. Even with a sorcerer near, Merlin realized, he was completely exhausted. Or maybe he just really thought Merlin was harmless, magic or no magic.

Disabusing him of that notion was not going to be enjoyable for either of them.

"All finished, sire," he said softly. He lifted Arthur's legs out of the wash tub and set them gently on the linen towel in his lap, then patted them dry. Arthur barely even twitched. "Sire?"

"Hm," said Arthur. Merlin felt something in his chest ache a little; despite everything, Arthur still trusted Merlin enough to allow himself to rest in front of him; or maybe he was just too drained to help himself.

"Let's get you to bed, sire," he said, standing with a little grunt. It was the work of moments to pull Arthur's blankets back and guide him down onto the pillow. The prince sighed deeply, and had gone completely limp in slumber almost before Merlin had finished covering him up.

Merlin watched Arthur sleep for a moment, just reveling in the fact that he'd done it: regardless of how Arthur might feel about it, Merlin had found him and he was safe. The rest—the discussion of sorcery, finding out how Arthur would react, figuring out Merlin's future—could all wait.

Then he turned and walked over to the wardrobe, pulling his book of spells out of his pack. He sat at the table, moving quietly so as not to wake Arthur, and flipped the book open to the first page.

He had an enchantment to break, and a feeling that it might take a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One or two of you have messaged me asking if I was okay, because there had been a delay in the update for this chapter. I really appreciate your concern! I am, however, completely fine, just busy with offline things. When I'm not writing fic, I do a little work as a calligrapher and amateur artist, and I have a couple of projects I'm working on and trying to get finished. Then, of course, there's all that regular adulting stuff that takes up time once in a while. So I guess what I'm saying is that updates may be sporadic going forward, now that Arthur has been rescued, but I do have this entire fic plotted out and it will be completed. Fear not! And thanks again for your concern.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin figures out how to break Arthur's enchantment; later, Arthur tries to convince Merlin not to come back to Camelot.

Ordinarily, Merlin could rely on his book to provide almost any answers he needed. It didn't just contain information on magic; the thing seemed to _be_ a little bit magic, itself. Merlin had often in the past let the book fall open to a random page, only to discover that what he saw on that page was exactly what he'd needed to solve a particular problem he was facing. He'd hoped to have the same thing happen today, for the enchantment on Arthur's blindfold.

Unfortunately, such was not the case. Perhaps the blindfold's enchantment had been invented after the book had been written, or perhaps Norman magic wasn't discussed in a book of magic created in Albion. Merlin couldn't be sure; he only knew that the book didn't seem to have what he was after. It "tried", insofar as a book could try; Merlin read paragraphs on breaking love spells, opening locks, dispelling the remnants of old spells that had already failed or worn away, and more, but there was nothing specific to what he really needed.

"Slavery," he murmured, and flipped the pages a little, only to find a collection of dark enchantments about ensnaring the will of another. Merlin read them carefully, in case any of them matched the spell that would affect Arthur, but there weren't any that quite fit the description. The spells were hideous, though, and Merlin shuddered before closing the book again. "Blindness?" He opened the book and read a little way down the column of text. "Eugh. No." Closed it again. "Enchanted objects."

The paragraphs this time were about how to imbue an object with a spell, and what sort of materials worked best for holding onto an enchantment. Useful stuff, if Merlin ever got around to enchanting Arthur's armor to protect him better. He also learned that he could burn the blindfold to destroy the last of the spell on it, but that still didn't help much; he couldn't very well do that while Arthur was still wearing it, now, could he?

The sun was slanting through the windows when Merlin finally pushed the book away with a sigh. His back ached from hunching over reading for so long, and his eyes itched. Arthur, poor thing, had slept the entire time. Merlin got up to stretch, feeling his shoulders pop as his reached his arms high overhead.

 _There has to be something_ , he thought. _If not in magic, then in the riddle. How do I keep Arthur from becoming someone else's helpless slave?_

But he'd been considering that question for hours now, and had come up with nothing. Maybe he was looking at it the wrong way.

_How do I keep someone else from becoming Arthur's master?_

That was easy enough; Arthur just had to avoid looking anybody in the eye after the blindfold came off. Could Merlin burn the blindfold while Arthur sat with his eyes shut? Would that break the spell? Merlin bit his lip, considering. It was probably worth a try, but it might not be worth the risk. If it didn't break the spell, there would be nothing to stop Arthur from opening his eyes and becoming caught.

There was something else, though, something just on the tip of his tongue… _How do I keep someone else from becoming Arthur's master?_

Arthur's master…

There was something there, he _knew_ it—he could feel that he was close to finding the answer to the riddle.

 _…if Arthur were his_ own _master_ _…_

Merlin stopped his pacing and froze. If Arthur were— "If Arthur were his own master!" he said aloud. "Of course! Arthur, wake up."

If the first person Arthur looked at was _himself_ , then he'd be his own master, right? The spell would loop back upon itself and either disappear or be satisfied, which amounted to the same thing. And all they needed to do was… yes. Yes, this could work!

"Arthur," he said again, crossing to the prince's bed. "Arthur, it's time to wake up."

The prince didn't move, and Merlin felt for him, he really did, but this was urgent. "Rise and shine," he called, yanking Arthur's blanket back and quickly dodging the fist swung in his direction.

"Wha—Merlin—" Arthur reached for his blindfold, trying to push it off, and visibly tensed as he came to full wakefulness.

"I think I've figured it out," he said quickly, as Arthur struggled to sit up. "The enchantment. I think I've figured out how to get around it."

"I'm listening," said Arthur. He sounded groggy still, and dragged one hand down his face the way he often did first thing in the morning.

"The enchantment to enslave you is activated by having you look into someone's eyes," Merlin explained. "And whoever you see will become your new master. But what if… what if you were to look into your _own_ eyes?"

Above the blindfold, Arthur's eyebrows went up. "Clever," he said after a moment. "That could work."

"It has to," said Merlin. "I've been at this for hours, and I haven't been able to find anything else that even comes close."

"What if it doesn't?" asked Arthur.

Merlin paused, biting his lip. "If it doesn't, then you might have to keep your eyes covered until we can find a better solution. I know you don't want me to be your master."

"I don't want anyone to be my master."

"Except yourself."

Arthur nodded. "Except myself. How do we do this?" he asked, and Merlin felt his shoulders drop in relief. Arthur may not like that he was a sorcerer, but he still trusted Merlin enough to do this for him. Maybe that would change once he could see again, but for now…

"Let me get out your shaving kit," he said, turning toward the wardrobe where he'd stashed Arthur's things.

"You… brought my shaving kit?" The prince sounded as though he wasn't sure whether to be amused or touched.

"I told you," replied Merlin as he rummaged, "I brought a little of everything. I wasn't sure what you would need when I found you. Here it is," he added with satisfaction, pulling his head back out of the wardrobe. In two steps, he was by Arthur's side and pressing the small, round mirror into Arthur's hands. "Okay. Here's how this will work. I'll take off the blindfold, but then I'll get _out of the way_ before you open your eyes. I'll probably stand behind the wardrobe or something. I don't want you to look up too soon, got it?"

"I'm not an idiot, Merlin."

"We only get one chance to do this right," insisted Merlin. "And you'd almost certainly blame me if the enchantment still tried to make you someone else's slave. Don't yell at me for wanting to make sure there are no mistakes."

Arthur pressed his lips together in a thin line and took a deep breath. "Fine," he said. "Get on with it."

Merlin knelt on the bed beside Arthur, and felt for the ends of the blindfold. They were tied in a simple knot; it was the work of moments to undo it, and then Merlin was unwinding the fabric from Arthur's head.

"Are your eyes closed?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You're sure."

" _Yes_ , Merlin, God. Just hurry up."

"Okay, but don't open your eyes yet."

"Merlin!"

"It's important!" Merlin pulled the fabric off and wadded it up in his hand. Then he climbed down off the bed and moved off to one side. If he stretched his senses out, he could just barely feel the enchantment that had been worked into the fabric, now hovering about Arthur's head and waiting to take effect. He opened the wardrobe door and stood behind it, then prepared to duck down so he couldn't see Arthur. "Okay, now."

Merlin didn't see the moment when Arthur opened his eyes, but he heard the prince's swift intake of breath. Merlin felt the enchantment swirl, then it seemed almost as if it sharpened, like a hawk sighting prey, before it swooped and vanished.

"Arthur?"

"I think it worked," said the prince.

"It feels like it did," said Merlin, still hiding behind the wardrobe. "Did you feel anything?"

"No, but my eyes flashed with light," Arthur replied. He sounded uncomfortable. "Like a sorcerer's."

"Maybe that was the spell going into you. I don't feel it anymore."

There was a long pause, and Merlin had no idea what Arthur would say next. Would he throw Merlin out, make him sleep in the stables, now that he could see again? Would he draw Gwen's sword and try to fight him, drive him off?

But no; instead of all that, all he said was, "Get out from behind the wardrobe, Merlin, you look ridiculous."

"Are you sure you want me to risk it?"

"You can't stay back there forever," Arthur pointed out. Which was entirely true, and his knees were starting to hurt anyway, from being bent over to hide behind the door.

Merlin straightened up slowly, and peered warily over the top of the wardrobe door. Arthur was seated on the bed, rubbing at his eyes and gingerly touching the scratch on his forehead, where he'd tried to dig at the blindfold before. He glanced up at Merlin, and Merlin flinched, waiting for something terrible to happen, but nothing did.

"Should I try to order you to do something?" he asked cautiously.

"If you do, I'll thump you," replied Arthur.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. "Stand up," he said. "Jump up and down."

"You really _want_ me to thump you, don't you? No."

Merlin beamed.

* * *

 

Merlin grinned at him, that gormless smile that made him look completely harmless and also like someone needed to feed him soup; Arthur smiled back, but internally he was… not quite sure how to proceed.

Merlin had freed him; had actually, physically bought him back from the slavers before he could go to some other master. Merlin had broken the enchantment on the blindfold, so he could see again. Merlin had washed his feet and watched over him while he slept, while he was at his most defenseless.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

How could he reconcile what he'd been taught about sorcerers, when Merlin seemed to be a walking contradiction of everything Uther had ever preached? How much of Merlin's behavior was an act, an attempt to win Arthur's trust? What would his motive be for such a thing?

Arthur glanced up, but Merlin seemed oblivious to his brooding, chattering away as he pulled some of Arthur's clothes out of the wardrobe nearest his bed. Arthur had to admit that the room was a nice one, for an inn; it was tastefully appointed, the furnishings well made… the bed had been incredibly comfortable, after sleeping on the hard ground or in a pile of straw for the past few days. Merlin, Arthur was forced to admit, had chosen well.

"…and anyway, dinner should be ready soon," Merlin was saying, as he handed Arthur a stack of clothing complete with a clean pair of braies and socks. He turned away and dug a pair of boots out of the wardrobe as well, which Arthur recognized as his second-best. "Violette said when they ring the bell, that's when they're ready to serve, but I think a lot of the guests must go to the common room a little early, just for something to do. When we got your lunch and the foot bath, there were people playing chess or something at one of the tables, and another old man was reading a book by the window. I don't know why he'd want to be there instead of in his own room, but I guess whatever makes you happy, right?"

"Merlin, you do like to natter on," said Arthur, when the other man paused for breath. "How you get so many words out and manage to say nothing at all is beyond me."

"It's not 'nothing at all', I just told you dinner will be ready soon. Are you going to get dressed, or should I see about bringing your meal here?"

Arthur squinted up at Merlin. "Are you trying to tell me what to do again?"

"Pssh. As if you'd listen. But you should still get dressed either way, before you take a chill or something."

Arthur shook his head and reached for his braies, tugging away the coarse fabric of the loincloth and dropping it on the floor. The audacity of Merlin sometimes, telling his prince what to do. But then, he was a sorcerer, maybe that was why he thought he didn't have to pay attention to things like rank and station.

It was heavenly to wear clothing again, even though he had only gone a few days without. Arthur pulled on socks and then trousers, and finally felt like a human being, rather than an animal. He remembered the Saxon slaver calling him "Little Bear" and shuddered. It was a true pity that he'd likely never see the man again; Arthur had genuinely hoped for the chance to slaughter that bastard where he stood, for all that he had done.

Finally he was dressed, and Merlin handed him a belt wrapped around a plain short sword. It didn't look like much, but when Arthur drew it from its scabbard, he saw that it was sharp and well cared for.

"What's this?" he asked, hefting it and testing the balance. It was a good blade.

"I told you, Gwen gave it to me. So I could defend myself on the road, if I had to."

Arthur shoved it back into the scabbard and began buckling the belt in place. "You're useless with a sword."

Merlin shrugged."Gwen said you should try training me with something like this instead of a heavier blade anyway."

Arthur didn't say anything, only finishing with the belt, then reaching for the vest Merlin handed him and shrugging into it. It was true that he'd never _really_ tried to train Merlin, only expected him to keep up like any of the other squires, but it was also unnerving to think about giving a sorcerer yet another weapon with which he could harm people.

Finally he felt presentable; he rubbed along his jaw and upper lip, feeling the three days' worth of beard there, but decided he could shave after he'd eaten. Or perhaps tomorrow morning. Merlin really had packed everything Arthur might need; there was only one thing missing.

"Where is my ring?" he asked. "The one that belonged to my mother." He rubbed his fingers together, expecting to feel it, hard and smooth against his skin. "I suppose it was lost," he said, feeling a pang. He had so few things by which to remember her.

"Your father has it," said Merlin. "When we found your things by the river, the ring was sitting on top. I kept it, but that's what made me realize you hadn't drowned after all. Because you wouldn't have willingly taken it off, yourself. Then when I spoke to the king, I showed it to him, and he kept it."

"Huh." Arthur couldn't quite help the smile, knowing he could get his ring back once they returned home.

Then his smile faded. He would have to decide whether Merlin returned to Camelot at all.

* * *

 

The bell rang not long after, and they made their way to the common room. Arthur would never admit it, but he was feeling a bit nervous, being a stranger in a foreign land and not speaking the language at all. Still, no one really gave them a second look as they sat down. The ones who did were looking at Merlin, who was dressed finer than Arthur was. He almost chuckled, wondering if the others thought Arthur was the servant and Merlin the lord.

"Where did you get those clothes?" he asked as they sat down. They suited him, strangely enough, the blue a good color on him… but Arthur recognized custom-tailored garments when he saw them. Never mind where; when had Merlin had _time_ to find such an outfit?

"Portsmouth, in Nemeth," said Merlin.

"What were you doing in Portsmouth? Anyway, clothing like that takes weeks to make." Arthur had certainly had to wait long enough for his own formal wear, and suffered through seemingly endless fitting sessions.

Merlin glanced up at the servant who brought their dishes and said something in their tongue, then looked down at his plate, visibly uncomfortable. "Portsmouth was the closest town to where your trail led," he said. "I had to go there to get supplies and find passage across the sea. As for the rest, it seems magic isn't illegal in Nemeth. They keep it quiet, I think, for fear of kings like Uther or Cenred, but it's there."

Arthur frowned. "You mean to say your clothes were… made with magic?" He hadn't known such a thing was possible. All the magic he'd ever seen had been directed at trying to kill someone—usually him—or enchant them to do the bidding of another.

Merlin gave a half-hearted shrug, just a twitch of one shoulder. "Goes faster that way. And I was in a hurry to find you." He still wouldn't look at Arthur.

He didn't really deserve it, but Arthur decided to drop the subject anyway. He tucked into his food, some kind of roasted fish with vegetables, and let Merlin relax for a bit. He wasn't behaving any differently than usual, but Arthur still couldn't be sure it wasn't an act of some kind.

"Where are we, anyway?" he asked casually, as he spread butter on a piece of soft bread. "You never said."

"Normandy," replied Merlin. "A city called Le Havre."

"I've heard of it," said Arthur. Normandy. That wasn't as far from Albion as he had feared. He could return home within a few days, assuming… "Do you still have money for passage home?"

"Uther and Morgana gave me plenty," said Merlin with a nod.

"When we're done eating, I want you to give it to me," said Arthur.

"What?"

"I'm the prince, you're the servant. I should hold onto the money."

"I'm not giving you what Gaius and Gwen contributed," protested Merlin. "They meant that for me, to help you. And anyway, how can you spend any money here when you don't speak the language?" Merlin sat back in his seat, frowning as he folded his arms. "Don't you usually have someone else hold the purse strings, anyway, when you go to the market? Or just have them charge your purchase to the castle? Why do I have to give you all the money?"

"I'll be able to find someone who understands me down at the docks," said Arthur, not looking at Merlin as he spoke. "Ships come here from all over the world; someone's bound to speak the language of Albion. And then I can book passage home."

There was a long pause; Merlin didn't speak until Arthur looked up at him to gauge his response. "What do you mean, _you_ can book passage home? I can do that, easy. We're going together, after all."

Arthur took a deep breath. "I'm not sure you should," he said carefully. Merlin was a sorcerer. He might do anything if Arthur provoked him.

Instead of looking angry, though, Merlin only seemed confused. "Not sure I should what?"

"Come back to Camelot."

Now Merlin's expression reminded Arthur of a puppy that had just been kicked. "You're banishing me?"

"It isn't banishment," Arthur tried, but Merlin cut him off.

"You're trying to forbid me from going home, how is that not banishment?"

Arthur lowered his voice and leaned in, hoping Merlin wouldn't cause a scene. "It's not safe for you there."

"Thanks, really, I hadn't figured that out yet in the _entire time I've lived there_ ," said Merlin fixing him with a familiar glare. "You're asking me to give up my home. What am I supposed to do, then, just stay here in Normandy? It'd be a miracle if you made it all the way back to Camelot without me to watch your back."

"I can take care of myself."

"Clearly, that's how you ended up here, after all."

That was a low blow, and Arthur scowled at Merlin, stung.

Merlin, however, ignored his expression and plowed on. "I have been looking out for you almost since the day we met, no matter how much of an ass you could be. People have been trying to kill you or destroy the kingdom on an almost weekly basis, and I've been there to save you every time. From the day your father made me your manservant, I have been there to watch your back, and to _save your life_. Whether you listen to me or not, whether you _sack_ me or not, that's not going to change. You tried to sack me over the mess with Valiant even though I was telling the truth, and you nearly sacked me over the whole business with Cedric, and both times I _still_ ended up saving Camelot. I just saved you from _slavery_ , for the gods' sakes, and your response is to try and banish me?" Merlin shook his head, looking thunderous, but instead of launching into another tirade, he narrowed his eyes and asked, "Why? What's this really about?"

"You're a sorcerer in a kingdom where having magic would see you executed!" exclaimed Arthur, only barely remembering to keep his voice down. They were in a public tavern, and he did not want to draw attention to their argument. "Magic is dangerous, and evil, and—"

"And you're in an inn where half the staff use it, in a kingdom that _obviously_ hasn't fallen into chaos even though people use it everywhere, having to face the thought that maybe your father is wrong and everything he's taught you is a lie."

"Do _not_ speak treason against my father," warned Arthur, his hand instinctively straying to the hilt of his sword.

"Why not? You're not letting me go back to Camelot anyway, right?" Merlin leaned forward. "This may be the only chance in your life that anyone around you will tell you the truth, instead of what Daddy wants you to hear."

"That's enough!"

Heads turned around them, the overall buzz of conversation dimming a bit as people stopped to stare at the pair of them. Arthur felt his face turning red, and glared at Merlin. It served Merlin right; his outburst had been Merlin's fault, anyway.

"You're right," said Merlin. His face was equally red, though not, it seemed, from embarrassment. "It is enough. I've certainly had enough of _you_ for one night." He rummaged in his pocket before pulling out a heavy, ornate key and slapping it on the table. "Room three. _My lord_ should be able to find it on your own when you're done eating."

Before Arthur could utter another word, Merlin had shoved his chair back, stood, gathered his plate, and disappeared through the doorway that led up the corridor to their room. Arthur could only gape after him, as people returned to their meals and the hum of conversation started up again around him.

A servant came up and said something to him that he didn't understand, a question of some sort.

"I'm sorry," he tried. "I don't…"

"Ah," said the servant. With a strong Norman accent, he said, "Will my lord have a drink with his meal? We have tea, ale, wine."

"Wine," said Arthur. "I'll have wine."

He had a feeling he was going to need rather a lot of it.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their argument, Arthur tries to get answers from Merlin; before they can finish their conversation, they are interrupted. Laurens of Picardy comes, with Wulfger and two members of the city guard; they talk first with the city guard, then fight. Merlin defeats Laurens, who is arrested; Wulfger knocks Merlin unconscious, and Arthur kills Wulfger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As thanks for the bearing with the delay between chapters, here is one that is a little bit longer than usual. I hope you enjoy it.

Arthur limited himself to two glasses of wine, sitting there alone in the common room of the inn, before he finally gave up and decided to go talk to Merlin. If he were being honest with himself, he felt torn between being ashamed of how he'd treated Merlin, his servant—again—and suspicious of what Merlin, the sorcerer, might want from him. It wasn't a pleasant combination. Arthur needed answers, and like it or not, Merlin was the only person who could give them to him.

With a last swallow of wine, he stood and made his way up the corridor to room three, trying not to feel self-conscious as he pulled out his key and fitted it to the lock. Perhaps it was his recent ordeal, or perhaps it was just the fact that he was in a foreign land, but Arthur felt as if he were being watched, even in the empty corridor, and it made his skin crawl until he could shut the door behind him.

A single lamp lit the room when Arthur entered. The remains of Merlin's meal were on the table, and the washtub they had used for Arthur's foot bath was emptied and resting on its side beside the courtyard door. Merlin himself was in bed, hunched under the blankets and unmoving, with his back to the room, but Arthur had his doubts that the other man was really asleep. It seemed a bit early for it, in his opinion, being barely an hour past sunset.

"Merlin, I know you're awake," he said quietly.

Merlin didn't move. Perhaps he really was asleep, and this conversation would have to wait until morning.

"Merlin."

No response.

Arthur sighed. "I wanted to say I'm sorry," he said. "For… being an ass."

"You're definitely that," said Merlin. He didn't turn over, directing his words at the wall instead.

"Can you blame me?" asked Arthur. He crossed the room and sat on the end of Merlin's bed with a thump, making the other man grunt and kick at him from under the blankets. "You have magic. All I've ever been taught is that magic is evil." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, then put his head in his hands. "You've lied to me about who you are, all this time." He honestly wasn't sure which of those two facts bothered him more.

"I like my head still attached to my shoulders," said Merlin bitterly. Arthur turned his head and waited, until Merlin added, "I've wanted to tell you. Ever since we became friends."

Arthur almost wanted to insist that they weren't friends; couldn't be, with the difference in their stations. But what was Merlin's actual station, now that he was revealed as a sorcerer? And what did station matter, after what Arthur had been through? Hadn't he determined that the entire concept was a lie? A prince had been reduced to a slave in a matter of days. What did it matter that Merlin worked as a servant?

"Why didn't you?" he asked instead.

"I couldn't be sure you wouldn't just tell the king," said Merlin. "And then I'd be dead. At best, you'd banish me, send me away. But if you didn't tell him… if you decided to keep my secret, then that would mean you were lying to your father, for me. I didn't want you to have to pick a side like that. That's not fair to you."

That was what he worried about?

"Keeping me in the dark wasn't fair to me either," Arthur pointed out. "Whatever I do with you should be my decision to make."

Merlin sighed, still facing the wall. "What _will_ you do?" he asked.

"I don't know yet." Arthur took a deep breath. "Why did you come to Camelot?"

"I told you, in Ealdor," said Merlin. "I didn't fit in there anymore. And I think my mum hoped that Gaius could teach me to control my power. It's worked so far. Although I guess being in fear for your life helps with that."

"So Gaius knows?"

"He knows."

Arthur nodded, taking that in. "Why would she send you to Camelot, though, instead of somewhere in Essetir? Magic isn't illegal there, as far as I know."

Merlin snorted. "No, it's not illegal, but it's not trusted, either. Anyone who's found out, anyone with any power, gets taken to Cenred and put on a _leash_ , whether they want it or not. If I'd ever been found out, I'd have been no better than a slave, even if I was nominally treated better. A golden collar is still a collar," he said, and Arthur shuddered, remembering the feel of metal around his own neck. "I didn't want to leave my home, but I couldn't stay either. Mum sure wasn't going to let me take that risk."

And that was reasonable, but… "Nemeth, then," said Arthur. "You said it's accepted there."

Merlin sighed again, and finally rolled over. "We don't know anyone in Nemeth," he explained. "I think Mum used to live in Camelot, a long time ago. Before I was born. She said Gaius was an old friend. She's never told me anything more than that, though."

Arthur nodded again, and thought carefully about his next question. "My father… he believes that magic corrupts people. That it's a dark art, that choosing to study it will erode a person's very soul. Turn them wicked, no matter how noble their intentions were to start with."

Merlin shook his head matter-of-factly. "That's not true," he said simply.

"Everyone I've ever met who had magic has tried to kill me."

Now Merlin sat up, running his fingers through his hair and making it stand on end. "Can you blame them?" he asked, sounding exasperated. "Arthur, your father has been responsible for the deaths of literally _thousands_ of innocent people. Men, women, children. He's slaughtered druids, and you _know_ they're peaceful. They've never harmed anyone, half of them don't even eat meat because they don't want to take any life if they can help it. Of _course_ the survivors are going to want revenge. How could they not? Would you really expect them to just… shrug their shoulders and walk away, after watching their parents, their kids, their husbands or wives, murdered, just for having magic?"

Arthur looked away, rubbing his fingertips with his thumb. "You're speaking treason against the king," he said quietly.

"Yeah, well. It's a pretty sad day when truth is treason, isn't it?"

To that, Arthur had no reply.

He opened his mouth to ask another question, but a knock on the courtyard door interrupted him. Arthur rolled his eyes—of course he couldn't just have a straightforward conversation with Merlin without some sort of distraction happening—then stood.

"Don't answer that," said Merlin, his voice tense.

Arthur looked over his shoulder, frowning, to see Merlin throwing the blankets back and putting his boots on, with his eyes on the door. He was still mostly dressed, giving the lie to his actually having been asleep when Arthur had first come in. "Why not?"

"Whoever is on the other side of that door has magic," said Merlin, "a lot of it. And they're aiming it at us."

Arthur felt his mouth go dry and metallic tasting, as he drew his sword. It was shorter than his usual blade; he'd have to remember to compensate for that. "And you said Normandy wasn't falling into chaos," he complained.

"It isn't," said Merlin, as the knock sounded again. "Let me get it." Then he whispered a word that Arthur didn't understand, and Arthur flinched, stepping back as he saw the other man's eyes burn with eerie fire.

"What did you do?"

"Put up a shield around us. Just in case." He smoothed his hands down the front of his tunic, took a deep breath, and then opened the door.

Standing on the other side were a pair of city guards, behind whom stood a man in shimmering robes and a velvet cloak. A glowing globe of golden light was hovering over his head, and he couldn't have more obviously been a sorcerer if he had hung a sign around his neck.

Behind him stood another man, and Arthur felt his eyes widen and his stomach drop in recognition.

The Saxon.

* * *

 

Merlin heard Arthur's swift intake of breath behind him, but before he could ask what was wrong, one of the guardsmen spoke. "We are here because this man says you stole one of his slaves," he said.

Merlin narrowed his eyes in anger and drew himself up. He hardly even had to pretend he was noble when he demanded, "And who is this man to accuse me of such a thing?"

The sorcerer spoke up. "I am called Laurens of Picardy," he said, smiling pleasantly. "Perhaps you have heard of me?"

"Mm. No, not really," said Merlin, just to wipe the smug look off his face. It was true enough, anyway. He had never heard of anyone by that name before going to the market that morning.

It was clear that the other man had been expecting his reputation to do all the work for him; his smile froze, looking more like a grimace, before he tried again. "Nevertheless, I have contracted to purchase a slave from this man behind me," he explained, "and I am told that you were the one who stole him, earlier this morning."

"I stole no one," said Merlin hotly. "For one thing, he is no slave, he was kidnapped by your procurer there. Wulfger, was it?" he asked, remembering the name from Morgana's description. To his satisfaction, the other man twitched in visible surprise, and put his hand on the head of an axe hanging from his belt. "For another, despite him not even belonging in that market, I paid for him _anyway_ in sapphires and emeralds, thirteen of them. The value was about thirty-seven crowns."

He felt Arthur standing behind him, so close that the heat of his body was soaking into Merlin's shirt. "Merlin, what's he saying?" he asked quietly.

Merlin didn't take his eyes off Laurens of Picardy for a second. "This is the sorcerer who planned to buy you, who arranged your kidnapping in the first place."

Arthur snarled and started forward, lifting his sword; Merlin barely managed to stop him in time, with a hand to his arm. The city guards drew their weapons as well.

"You will halt," said one.

"Do you have proof of these claims?" asked the second.

"He does not," said Laurens smugly. "I know for a fact that he left with a slave, and no writ of purchase."

"I need no writ for a man who is not a slave," retorted Merlin.

Laurens opened his mouth to speak again, but the guard stopped him with a look. "But you do not deny going to the slave market this morning?"

"I do not. But I was there to rescue my friend, not steal anything. Or anyone."

The guards shared a glance with one another, then the other one asked, "If he is no slave, then who is he?"

"His name is Arthur Pendragon, and he is the only son of King Uther of Camelot, in Albion," said Merlin. "He is Crown Prince and heir to the throne there."

The guardsmen paused at that, eying one another silently, as if trying to decide which of them would answer.

For the first time, Wulfger spoke up. His accent was thick as he said with a snort, "I named him Björnungr. Little Bear."

Arthur snarled and lunged, shoving Merlin into the door jamb as he leaped forward.

Laurens of Picardy lifted one hand lazily, and Arthur's blade went flying back into the room as he froze in place, halfway into the courtyard.

Merlin could see Arthur panting in rage and near-panic, unable to move. He slashed one hand through the air and broke Laurens's hold on him; then, grabbing the back of Arthur's shirt, he pulled him back inside. Gently, gently, with one hand on his chest, he stepped in front of Arthur, blocking the door. "Touch him again," he said evenly, "and I will _end_ you." Beneath his hand, he could feel Arthur trembling with the effort of holding himself back. He could only imagine what Arthur must be going through, to be face to face with his captors once more while they mocked him like that.

Laurens threw his head back and laughed. "You are an untrained boy," he said. "I am the most powerful sorcerer in Normandy."

"And I am Emrys," said Merlin, voice deadly and low, "and I say you will not have him."

That, at least, wiped the smile from Laurens's face. "A bold claim," he said. "But I will not bother to ask you to prove it. You have no writ of purchase for this slave, and you have no proof that he is who you say he is."

Proof… Merlin blinked in realization. "Actually, I think I do," he said.

"If you could produce it, please," said one of the guards.

"Arthur," said Merlin, still not taking his eyes off Laurens, "in my belt pouch, hanging off the end of my bed, there's a piece of parchment with Uther's seal on it. Could you bring that here, please?"

"My father's seal?" asked Arthur, but Merlin could hear his footsteps crossing the room. After a pause, Arthur exclaimed, "You have a letter of marque?!"

"Just bring it here, Arthur, please," said Merlin. "The guards need proof that I'm telling the truth about you. Apparently this would have been easier if I'd gotten a _receipt_ when I bought you this morning."

"Bought me," grumbled Arthur, but he handed the letter of marque to the nearest guard. The guard's eyes flashed gold as he passed a hand over the paper, then read the words. His eyebrows climbed in surprise.

"My lord," he said after a moment. "Why did you not tell us you were a royal diplomat?"

Merlin blinked, and cleared his throat. That… hadn't exactly been clear in the contents of the letter that Merlin had read. "I, um. I didn't think I needed to," he stammered, as the guard handed him back the letter.

"This man is lying," exclaimed Laurens. "He is no diplomat. I doubt he is even noble. Any sorcerer of moderate skill can fake a seal."

"And any sorcerer of moderate skill can tell a fake when he sees one," said the guard. "I trust my own skills are not in doubt, here, sir."

"…They are not," sulked Laurens after a moment.

"We apologize for taking up your time, my lord," said the other guard to Merlin. "We wish you a pleasant evening, a pleasant stay in Le Havre while you are here, and a safe journey back to your home."

Before Merlin could answer, Laurens exclaimed, "That's it? You will do nothing?"

"He has a letter of marque from the King of Camelot," said the guard, pointing to the parchment still in Merlin's hand. "He is authorized to do as he wishes in this matter. If you have a complaint with that, my lord sorcerer, you may take it up with their king yourself. We will have no more to do with this."

Laurens sputtered, but couldn't complete a sentence before the guards bowed to him and to Arthur, and again wished them a pleasant evening.

"Thank you," said Merlin, "but I have a question."

"Yes, my lord?"

"This man kidnapped the prince of Camelot," he said, pointing at Wulfger. "And he did it because _this_ man, this Laurens of Picardy, wanted a slave of royal blood, for magical reasons. The man who sold him at the market told me himself." Merlin drew himself up to his full height. "I want to know what you are going to do about that."

The guards narrowed their eyes and turned toward Laurens. "Is this true?"

Laurens sniffed, uncaring. "What does it matter?"

The guard's lips thinned in annoyance. "Blood magic is rarely used for benign purposes, as you well know. And if you wished to use it for something non-malicious, you would not have required a slave; you would have found someone willing to help you."

"He would have been willing!"

"When I rescued him," said Merlin, "His Highness was wearing a blindfold that enchanted him to become compelled to obey the first person he saw after it came off. I don't think that counts as 'willing'."

"You be silent, boy!"

Merlin folded his arms and lifted his chin, very much wanting to dare Laurens to make him.

"Merlin, what's happening?" asked Arthur lowly.

"The letter of marque worked, and now they're arguing over whether or not the other sorcerer was going to do something illegal with you."

"Magic _is_ …" Arthur started, then paused.

"Not illegal here," finished Merlin. "But it looks like some _kinds_ of magic might still be off-limits."

He heard Arthur shift behind him. "I promised that other man, the one who looks like Saxon… I swore to him I would kill him."

Just then, Laurens of Picardy stepped in close to the guard, his eyes glowing with magic as he pointed threateningly at the other man. "I will not be denied this," he shouted, red in the face. "I have spent too many years gathering up everything I needed for this ritual, only to be stopped now!"

"You should have thought of that before you tried to kidnap a prince," said the guard calmly. "By the laws and customs of Normandy, you are hereby placed under—"

"I made sure not to take a prince from any neighboring kingdom! Who cares about Albion? We have no treaties with their lands!"

The guard only shook his head, while the other rolled his eyes. "You confess your own crimes," he said. "You are under arrest."

He reached for the sorcerer, only for Laurens to sweep his arm forward and throw both guards back with his magic, flinging them hard into the shuttered windows of the room two doors down.

Instinctively, Merlin strengthened his shield, just in time for something small and sharp to impact it. He looked and saw a dart lying on the cobblestones, identical to the one he and Leon had found in the forest. Behind Laurens, in the courtyard, Wulfger was smiling grimly.

To Arthur, he said, "Looks like you'll get your chance!" and then the battle was joined.

* * *

 

Arthur watched wide-eyed as Merlin and the other sorcerer went at it. The Norman—Laurentius? Arthur thought he remembered from the market this morning—flung out his hand at Merlin, shouting something, but Merlin only barked a single word and whatever the spell was bounced harmlessly off a glimmering dome that surrounded him and Arthur both. Then Merlin stepped into the courtyard, expression furious, looking more like a warrior than Arthur had ever seen from his friend.

His harmless, bumbling, idiot, servant of a friend.

Arthur gaped, then ducked for cover as a bolt of lightning struck in the courtyard, blinding and deafening him for a crucial second. He actually _felt_ his hair stand on end, and the shock traveled through the ground and made the soles of his feet tingle. Throughout the inn, after his hearing came back, he could hear shouts and screams, and he also could smell smoke.

Blinking away the afterimages, Arthur saw that part of the roof of the inn had caught fire and was beginning to spread.

Both sorcerers were still standing, though; Merlin's fists were clenched, while Laurentius looked shocked, even panicked. He gasped out something in his own language; Merlin did not answer, but whatever the other sorcerer saw on Merlin's face must have terrified him. He turned to run, but before he made it two steps, the very stones of the courtyard tumbled underneath his feet, knocking him to the ground. He flipped onto his back and tried to scuttle away as Merlin approached, walking deliberately. The other sorcerer's eyes were wide as he babbled, no doubt begging for his life.

Arthur genuinely wasn't sure how to feel about it when Merlin stopped and simply stood over him as it began to rain. Did he want the sorcerer dead? Almost certainly. But did he want Merlin to be a killer?

After a moment, the Norman guardsmen staggered over from where they'd been thrown, and stepped in between the two men, lifting Laurentius between them and pulling his arms behind his back.

Merlin's shoulders dropped, and he turned back, looking at Arthur with a strange expression on his face; he seemed caught between relief, worry, and apology…

…and then some kind of rope with weights on the ends of it came whirling through the air to wrap around Merlin's head and neck, clubbing him and dropping him without a sound.

"Merlin!" Arthur dashed out, slipping on the now-wet cobblestones, but a voice stopped him.

"Little Bear," said the Saxon. God, he'd forgotten about the Saxon. "You promised to kill me once."

Arthur saw red. He welcomed the rage as he gripped his short sword tighter and moved toward the filth that had tried to enslave him. "And I will," he growled.

The Saxon only smiled and replied, "They all say that."

Arthur was beyond words now; he twirled his sword in his hand, feeling the weight and balance of it, and attacked.

The Saxon was good, though, and versatile; he had a sword in one hand and pulled an axe from his belt for the other. Arthur had only one weapon and no shield, but he also had his anger and several days' worth of pent-up energy, just waiting to be unleashed.

The two men clashed in a flurry of blows and broke apart again, Arthur ducking under the axe's swing. They worked their way across the courtyard, back and forth as the rain fell and the fire on the roof blazed. The Saxon got in a lucky slice to Arthur's arm; Arthur kicked him in the knee and nearly beheaded him. The Saxon was close to Arthur's height and build, fast, and skilled with his weapons, but Arthur had been training to kill every day of his life since he was seven years old. He was a prince, a knight, a commander of men. This scum was a mere slaver, a raider and pillager of helpless peasants, and he would leave this courtyard in pieces if Arthur had anything to say about it.

He got his first good strike in, a blow to the Saxon's leg that made him cry out and stagger back. Arthur pressed his advantage, raining blows down toward the man's head as he dropped to his knees, crossing his weapons to block as Arthur hammered at him again and again. Finally, the Saxon rolled out of the way, kicking at Arthur with his good leg as he got to his feet.

The Saxon dropped his axe, and reached for a pouch on his belt; Arthur saw the move, though, and waited for another of those little darts to fly toward him, twisting his body and knocking it out of the air as he did. The Saxon reached again, and Arthur closed with him before he could draw another dart; before he could swing, though, the man flung a handful of powder straight at Arthur's eyes.

The rain must have caught most of it, but enough reached Arthur that he was forced to shut his eyes tight against the sting. If the Saxon thought that would stop him, though, he was very, very wrong. Arthur stabbed forward to where he knew the Saxon was still standing, and felt his blade sink deep into the man's belly. He heard the choked off gasp, and the squelch as Arthur dragged his sword upward through his guts, disemboweling him. He grabbed for the Saxon's collar with his free hand, listening as the other man's sword clattered to the ground.

Opening his eyes despite the burn, Arthur met the Saxon's fearful gaze with his own. Blood was beginning to seep from the corner of the slaver's mouth, and his voice caught and gurgled as he whispered, "Little… Bear…"

"My _name_ ," he snarled, twisting the blade once more, "is _Arthur_."

He waited until the light had gone from the Saxon's eyes, before dropping his corpse on the cobblestones.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary in author's note at end of chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a request not to put my summary at the top of the chapter, so it's at the bottom now. I rarely used to do chapter summaries at all, but I had had a request to please include one so that readers with anxiety would have some idea what they were getting into. One of those "can't please everybody" scenarios, I guess, but with luck I've arrived at a reasonable compromise. Summary or no summary, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

"Merlin." Arthur was panting for breath from his fight, and barely able to see thanks to whatever the Saxon had thrown into his eyes, but in the light from the inn's burning roof he still could make out Merlin's still form, lying on the broken cobblestones in the rain about ten paces away. A boy was already at Merlin's side, unwinding the Saxon's strange weapon from Merlin's head and neck. Arthur remembered the feel of it tangling around his legs, back when he'd first tried to escape. "Merlin!"

The boy looked up fearfully as Arthur staggered across the courtyard, sword in hand, and dropped to his knees beside them. Arthur ignored him, pressing two fingers to Merlin's neck, checking for his pulse. He felt his entire body sag with relief when it came through, strong and steady.

A woman's voice caught his attention, and he looked up, seeing her and several other people rushing into the courtyard now that the fight was over. She spoke one word, and a globe of reddish light sprang into existence, floating over her head. Before Arthur could even flinch, a number of the other people behind her did the same thing. Soon, a half dozen lights in various colors illuminated the courtyard, spreading out as everyone moved.

The woman seemed to be in charge of all of them, and Arthur remembered what Merlin had said about the inn having a landlady, and that landlady being a sorceress. Of course, he'd also claimed that she wasn't dangerous, and Arthur wasn't sure he could trust that.

As he watched, however, the landlady only directed the others to their various tasks; Arthur couldn't understand the language, but her tone was brisk, calm, and decisive. Two people went to cover the Saxon's body with a tarp, while several more moved toward the fire and began to… well, it seemed as though they were _directing_ the rain, holding their hands in the air and appearing to push the water so that it fell over the fire. Others filled buckets at the pump, but when they tossed the water up, it soared high overhead before crashing onto the flames with great gouts of steam and smoke. Another seemed to be repairing the cobblestones that had been upturned and broken during the magical fight.

She came herself to kneel at Merlin's side, ignoring the rain, bringing her light with her. The glow revealed a nasty bruise at Merlin's temple and forehead, already beginning to swell. He would have a black eye for certain, and might not even be able to open it by tomorrow… assuming he woke up at all.

The woman asked the boy something, and the boy answered, but Arthur could not understand a word of it. He gritted his teeth in frustration as they talked, and finally the landlady seemed to take notice.

"He lives," she said, in a strong Norman accent. "We take him in now, to his room. We find, eh, how you say… one who makes better? For sick person?"

"A physician?" asked Arthur.

"Physician. Yes." She nodded firmly and stood, beckoning two men over who looked like stable hands, based on their clothing and build. They lifted Merlin carefully, one holding his head steady while the other got his shoulders and hips; Merlin's legs dangled precariously, until Arthur jumped in and got an arm under his knees.

His other hand was still occupied with a gore-soaked blade, and the woman looked at it with disdain. "You do not need that," she said. "I do not want it here."

Arthur pressed his lips together, but nodded. The last thing he and Merlin needed was to be kicked out of the inn for all the trouble they'd caused, even if none of it had been their fault. "I'll put it away once we're inside," he said, speaking slowly so that she understood.

The door to their room was still open, and the three of them plus the landlady shuffled Merlin inside and laid him out on the table. Merlin was soaked to the skin, and grimy from lying on the cobblestones. The landlady made quick work of removing his boots, while the others started on Merlin's vest and shirt. Arthur was relieved to see that they at least left his trousers, despite the way they were dripping onto the table, to protect Merlin's modesty.

Arthur quickly found a rag among his belongings and wiped the sword down before sheathing it, then came to the table, where they were just covering Merlin with a spare blanket. Another had been folded and placed under his head as a makeshift pillow.

"Wait here," said the woman. "I will return with the physician."

"Thank you," said Arthur. The landlady gave him an unreadable look, but did not answer as she followed the stable hands out and shut the door behind her.

* * *

 

Arthur was left alone with an unconscious, still dripping Merlin; the sight of him made Arthur realize that he was soaked as well, and beginning to shiver now that the high of battle had worn off. His eyes still stung from whatever the Saxon had thrown in his face, and his sword hand and part of his sleeve were covered in the Saxon's blood. The other sleeve had been sliced clean through, and that arm was bleeding as well.

Arthur sighed, shaking his head, and peeled off his ruined shirt, tossing it to the floor beside his bed. As he looked in his wardrobe for fresh clothes, he saw that at some point in his stay, Merlin had actually unpacked all his things and hung them up, as if he'd planned for the two of them to stay for quite a while. Everything was put away, as tidy as if they'd been in Arthur's own chambers.

Servant, sorcerer, or both?

"Only you, Merlin," muttered Arthur. He washed his hands and face in the basin, then dressed quickly, not sure when the landlady would return with the physician. The cut on his forearm was not deep, and he was able to find bandages among Merlin's own bags to wrap the wound. Finally, he pulled up a chair and sat at the table, near Merlin's head. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, and settled his chin on top of his fists.

Here Merlin was, a powerful sorcerer, who had sent the orchestrator of Arthur's kidnapping tumbling on his ass in a matter of seconds… yet he'd been brought low by a mundane weapon himself, just as quickly. Arthur wasn't sure whether that was a relief, or something more to worry about. It had been dark out, but the skies had been clear before Merlin had started his part of the fight. Now the rain was coming down in a way that suggested they'd see storms throughout the night, and that lightning bolt had struck practically at Laurentius's feet. Arthur hadn't known that magic could do something like that. Kill, certainly. Control the elements? That had come as a bit of a surprise.

Just how strong was Merlin, anyway?

"There's so much you haven't told me," murmured Arthur. He sighed again, and his breath stirred Merlin's hair a little.

As if in response, Merlin began the slow process of waking: squinting his eyes shut, swallowing, and giving a faint, pathetic sounding moan. It was almost a whimper. To be fair, Arthur didn't envy him the headache he was about to have.

Merlin's hand twitched against the table as his head rolled from side to side. He moaned again, and his other hand reached up to touch his bruised temple. Arthur reached out and caught his wrist in a gentle grip. From Arthur's own experience, Merlin would surely regret it if he actually touched the injury. Arthur had made himself vomit from pain and nausea before, after a really good blow to the head. He didn't want to clean up after Merlin here.

"Gaius?" God, thought Arthur. He sounded as pathetic as he looked.

"Easy does it, Merlin," he answered, keeping his voice pitched low.

Merlin pried one eye open, then the other, shutting them immediately against the light, even though there was only a single lamp lit in the room. After a moment, he tried again, his eyelashes fluttering as he struggled to wake. Finally he was able to keep his eyes open for more than a second at a time, but they looked a little bit crossed to Arthur.

"Arthur," said Merlin.

"I'm here."

It was clear that Merlin was having a hard time focusing, given the careful, intent way he studied Arthur's face. "There are two of you."

Arthur couldn't help but smile. "I'm not surprised."

He shut his eyes again, swallowing heavily. "What happened?"

Arthur was no physician, and wasn't quite sure what he should do now that Merlin was talking. "What do you remember?" he hedged.

"Mm." He swallowed again, and Arthur wondered if he was going to be sick. "Sorcerer. Laurens of Picardy."

Arthur supposed "Laurens" was close enough to the "Laurentius" that he'd heard in Latin earlier that day. "That's right."

"He brought those guards," said Merlin. "Said I'd stolen you. And then… he attacked us?"

"Yes," said Arthur.

"I got angry," said Merlin. Arthur huffed a little laugh. That was certainly one way of putting it.

"Yes, you did."

"…I don't remember anything after that. Something hit me."

"The other slaver," said Arthur. "The one who looked like a Saxon hunter."

"Wulfger. Morgana said his name was Wulfger."

Arthur frowned, sitting up straight in his chair. "How would Morgana know that?"

"Her visions," said Merlin sleepily. "She has—I'm not supposed to tell you that."

Arthur took a slow, deep breath. "Tell me anyway."

Merlin opened his eyes again, looking at Arthur blearily. "Her nightmares," he said sluggishly. "They come true sometimes. She can't help it. But she saw you being taken, she saw the men who did it. Their names're Wulfger and Adelbard."

Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it again, completely at a loss for how to respond. He blinked several times. "Morgana has magic?"

"Dunno," said Merlin, as his eyes fell shut once more. "She has dreams though."

There was a long pause, as Arthur thought that over. He'd been considering keeping Merlin away from Camelot, in only for his own safety, certain that his magic would get him caught and killed someday. But now Morgana apparently had magic, too, or at least, something enough like it as to make no difference to Uther's obsession. What could he do about her? Could they keep each other safe, if they were both in Camelot together?

"My head hurts," said Merlin.

"I know," Arthur replied.

"What happened?"

Arthur felt a chill creep over him. Hadn't they just discussed this? Was this normal for head wounds? Arthur had been on the receiving end before, more than once, but he'd never really had to sit vigil over any of his knights when they took a similar injury.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "The landlady said she was going to look for a physician."

"Okay."

Merlin seemed to doze then, drifting between waking and sleep; occasionally he would open his eyes and look around in confusion. He asked for Gaius, two or three times. He told Arthur that his head hurt, several times. Once, he asked Arthur where they were, and Arthur felt the chill spread.

"Normandy," he said quietly. "Don't you remember?"

Merlin shut his eyes again, reaching up to touch the bruise at his temple. "My head hurts."

"I know, Merlin. It'll be all right."

Arthur could only hope that was true.

* * *

 

Finally, finally, there was a knock at their door. Arthur fairly leaped up to answer it, his worry for Merlin making him a bit frantic.

The landlady was waiting behind the door, along with a man dressed as a servant, and another woman, wearing a wet cloak and carrying a familiar-looking bag. "The physician," said the landlady.

The physician was a woman? Arthur wasn't quite sure what to say to that, but he wasn't in Albion; perhaps the customs were different, here in Normandy where magic ran rampant. Still, he stepped back from the entry and let them pass, frowning as the physician made a beeline for the table where Merlin lay. She passed her cloak to the servant, who hung it on a peg by the door, without taking her eyes off Merlin.

The landlady indicated the servant, saying only, "Nicolas will help," before stepping back out and closing the door behind her.

"I speak your language well, my lord," said Nicolas. "And I am also here to assist Madame Claudile."

"Arthur?" Merlin's voice was no stronger than it had been all evening; he sounded half-dead.

"I'm here," said Arthur, coming back to the other side of the table. Claudile's hands were gentle as they pushed Merlin's hair back from his forehead, examining the swelling and blackening at his temple and eye. She murmured a question to Nicolas as she felt along the back of Merlin's head. "You'll be all right, Merlin."

"Gaius?"

"No, he's in Camelot still. Do you remember?"

There was a long pause. "Normandy," he said finally, and Arthur felt his shoulders drop in relief.

The physician lifted Merlin's eyelids, frowning when he hissed and tried to turn his head away from the light. She said something to Nicolas, but Merlin seemed to understand it as well, because he opened his eyes, in obvious pain, and did his best to focus on her. He asked her something in the Norman tongue, and her entire face softened as she answered.

Merlin seemed to have that effect on a lot of people, Arthur thought. It couldn't be an act, not when he was half-conscious and addled in the head like he was now. He was a sorcerer, but… he was himself, too. Perhaps he still was the man Arthur thought he knew.

Arthur shook his head and stepped back out of the way, as Claudile opened her bag and began pulling out jars and bottles, lining them up on the table above Merlin's head. She moved with the ease of long practice as she lifted Merlin's head with one hand, and held a bottle to his lips with the other. Merlin swallowed the potion with a grimace, and she laid him back down gently.

"What was that?" asked Arthur.

"It is medicine for pain, my lord," answered Nicolas. "Not too strong."

Claudile pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle from her bag next, and Arthur wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell when she undid the string holding it together, revealing a clump of what looked like damp, chewed-up leaves and stems. There may have even been the occasional squashed flower in there. The thing looked like something a sheep would cough up.

With deft hands, the physician molded the clump into a flat shape, then pressed it gently into place across Merlin's eye and temple. She said something to Nicolas, and he stepped forward, holding the poultice while she unwound a roll of bandages, then began to wrap them around Merlin's head.

Once that was done, Claudile wiped her hands with a clean rag, then cupped them over Merlin's injury. She closed her eyes and began to mutter words under her breath, over and over. Arthur nearly shoved her away, recognizing sorcery even before her eyes began to shine with the magic.

"What are you—what's she doing?" he demanded.

Nicolas looked at him strangely, and Arthur had to wonder just how accustomed to magic he was. "A very common spell for healing, my lord," he said. "Do you not know it?"

" _No_ , I don't know it. We don't allow sorcery in Camelot."

The servant raised his eyebrow before schooling his face to neutrality. "Then I wonder how many people must die needlessly in your land," he said, and Arthur wanted to smack him. "The poultice is for your friend's injury. The spell is to make it more effective."

Merlin, for his part, sighed deeply, the expression on his face easing as Claudile ended her chant. At least whatever she had done didn't seem to have harmed him any.

Arthur frowned at all of them, still suspicious, but the physician seemed to be finishing up. She glanced at Arthur once, and began speaking; Nicolas hastened to translate for her.

"Madame Claudile says that your friend was struck very hard by this weapon. It was enough to cause swelling in the brain, which might have killed him, or left him permanently damaged, if it were left untreated. He is to sleep tonight, and tomorrow, as much as he needs. Madame Claudile will leave medicine for the pain and, how you say, dizziness. If he is not better in two days, send for her again."

Claudile set aside a large bottle of brown glass, and a smaller, green one without a stopper, empty. "This is the medicine," explained Nicolas. "The little green bottle measures one dose. You may give it to him when he wakes, and when he complains, but not more than one dose at a time, and not more than four times between sunrise and sunset. The same by night."

Arthur smoothed his hands down his shirt, unaccountably nervous at the thought of taking care of Merlin. He was no physician himself. "Is there anything else?"

Nicolas translated, and Claudile thought for a moment before answering. "He may not wish to eat or drink when he first wakes," said the servant. "Do not force him to eat if he feels sick, but he must have water and broth, a little every day. Every few hours would be best."

Something of his trepidation must have shown on Arthur's face, because the physician-sorceress smiled at him, reached across the table, and patted him on the arm. Arthur managed to repress the flinch, but only barely. She said something to Nicolas, then began to pack up her things.

"Madame Claudile says it is good that you care for your friend, but she also says not to worry. Your friend will recover. If he is not better in two days, send for her again, and she will come."

"Er. Thank you," said Arthur. Friend. Were he and Merlin friends? Could they be?

He glanced down at where Merlin lay on the table. The bandage and poultice covered most of his left eye, and made his damp hair stand out in all directions. He looked faintly ridiculous, and Arthur couldn't help the way one corner of his mouth curled up in a smile at the sight of him. Perhaps it was only relief at the knowledge that Merlin would recover.

"Throwing lightning bolts around, and still you manage to look like a complete idiot," he said softly.

"Prat," came the reply, as Merlin opened his good eye. His gaze roamed the room dazedly until he found Arthur. "There's only one of you now."

"Yes," said Arthur, "well spotted."

Claudile gestured to him and Nicolas, and stepped back from the table. "Madame Claudile wishes us to help your friend to his bed," said the servant, leaning down to get an arm under Merlin's shoulders. With soft words and careful movements, he helped Merlin to sit up, the blanket falling away to his lap. Merlin turned a little green, and swallowed heavily.

"Don't get sick," said Arthur, half to himself.

"Won't," muttered Merlin, then moaned a little as his head wobbled. He brought his hand up to touch the poultice gingerly, and Claudile said something that made him smile despite the obvious nausea.

"My lord?" Nicolas was looking at Arthur, gesturing for him to come and support Merlin's other side.

"You'd better not get sick _on me_ ," said Arthur, slotting himself under Merlin's bare shoulder and wrapping his arm around the other man's waist.

" _Won't_ ," insisted Merlin. "'S good you'll be king someday… because you're a terrible physician."

Merlin's knees buckled almost as soon as his feet touched the floor, but Arthur was able to take his weight easily, with Nicolas's help. Together, they shuffled Merlin over to his bed, moving slowly and carefully, pausing every other step or so. It seemed to take far too long, but at last Claudile flipped the blankets back, and they sat Merlin down.

"'M all wet," he said, picking at his trousers.

"We'll get you something dry to sleep in," said Arthur. "All right?"

"All right." He swayed, putting out a hand to catch himself. Claudile reached out and stroked one hand through his hair, away from the injury, and murmured something that made Merlin smile tiredly. He answered her, and then she and Nicolas collected their things and made for the door.

"What about payment?" asked Arthur.

Nicolas shook his head. "It will be settled with Madame Violette, when you leave."

"Violette. She is the innkeeper here?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Very well."

And with that, the door shut, leaving him and Merlin alone once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Arthur and others deal with the aftermath of the fight, including calling a physician for Merlin. Arthur thinks about a few things while he waits, and talks with Merlin when he wakes up. The physician arrives and treats Merlin.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur talk briefly after Claudile leaves; later, Arthur ponders what to do with Merlin, then finds Merlin's magic book.

 "Do you have that effect on everyone you meet?" Arthur couldn't help but ask. He turned to where Merlin sat on the bed; the other man's hair was curled from the rain and sticking up every which way, not helped by the bandage wrapped around his head. He was still pale and sickly looking, and his eyes were shut against the dim light of the single lamp.

He didn't open his eyes to respond, "What effect?"

"Making people like you."

One corner of Merlin's mouth quirked up, despite looking half-dead and miserable. "Are you admitting you like me?"

"Of course not," Arthur huffed. "Don't be an idiot."

"'M not an idiot." Merlin blinked slowly, but when he focused on Arthur again, he seemed a little less hazy than he had before. Perhaps the physician's magic really had helped. "You all right?"

Arthur frowned a little. "Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" The cut on his arm was nothing, and the stinging in his eyes had stopped. Merlin hadn't even been conscious for that fight, anyway.

"Laurens," sighed Merlin. "He used magic on you. And they wanted to steal you back." He blinked again, and added, "And they had you for days. Treated you like an animal. Worse than an animal." His expression hardened, but only for a moment before he winced and shut his eye again. "Wanted to kill him."

Arthur remembered the look on his servant's face as he'd stepped into the courtyard, right before the lightning had struck. Remembered the way he'd stood over a gibbering Laurens, but then, instead of striking him down, had simply stepped back and allowed the guards to haul him away. "Why didn't you?" he asked, sitting on the bed beside Merlin.

"Wasn't sure I should," he said. "We're not in Camelot. Wasn't sure what I could get away with here." He opened his good eye once more, focusing on Arthur. "And I didn't want you to think of me as a murderer."

Arthur took a slow, deep breath, letting it out carefully. "Have you killed with your magic before this?"

"For you," said Merlin. "To protect you." A thin tear broke free and trickled down his cheek. Merlin didn't seem to notice. "It's always been for you."

Arthur really wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He looked away, resting his elbows on his knees; he felt distinctly uncomfortable with the display of emotion, and, if he were being honest, with the notion of being responsible for whatever Merlin did with his magic. As Merlin's lord and master, Arthur was technically responsible for everything he did. Wouldn't it be better if he weren't in Camelot? Wouldn't it be better if he just… didn't come back?

On the other hand, might it be better if he did? If he stayed where Arthur could keep an eye on him, and could make sure he didn't do anything with his magic that he shouldn't?

Arthur wasn't sure, and had a feeling he wouldn't be able to reach a decision and make a choice anytime soon. He stood, careful not to jostle Merlin, and went to the other man's wardrobe.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to find you something to sleep in that isn't soaked," said Arthur.

"Okay."

Arthur had half-expected a witty retort, despite Merlin's injury; when he didn't get one, he looked over to see his servant fumbling with the laces on his fancy new trousers. They fit him like a second skin, and Arthur had the distinct impression that he'd be helping Merlin peel them off in a few minutes. He glanced over at the silk shirt, lying in a wet pile on the floor and covered in grime.

"Shame your new clothing was ruined," he offered.

"I'll fix it later," said Merlin. He paused in his struggle, closing his eye and rubbing gingerly at the bridge of his nose. "When I'm feeling better. I'd hate to waste that silk."

"You're rubbish with mending, and anyway, it's all muddy."

"Magic, Arthur," sighed Merlin. "Oh, my head."

Arthur paused; that was something else he hadn't known magic could do, but he decided to sidestep the topic. "Is the medicine not working?"

"No, it's helping. I feel a lot better than I did… that's just not saying much."

"Mm." Arthur came back, nightshirt in hand, and sat down beside Merlin again. "Let's get these wet things off you. Last thing I need is for you to take a chill or something. And I am _not_ helping you into your own braies."

"I wouldn't want you to."

Arthur was no kind of nursemaid, and it was a bit of a struggle, but before long he had Merlin out of his damp trousers and smalls, and into a clean, dry nightshirt. Merlin was visibly flagging by the time they were finished.

"You should sleep."

"Help me lie down?" Merlin requested. "I feel like my head is going to fall off if I'm not careful."

"Fine," Arthur said with a sigh. He was not going to let Merlin see how worried he was, nor how awkward he felt. All this touchy-feely stuff would be better suited to a real nursemaid, or a servant, not a prince. Arthur was used to being taken care of by others; he had no experience in reversing those roles.

Even so, he stood up and leaned over, cupping one hand on the back of Merlin's neck, and holding him steady as Merlin tipped over and began to lie down. Merlin moaned again as soon as his head touched the pillow, and Arthur pulled his hand away.

"Is something wrong?" Had Arthur hurt him?

"No," said Merlin, his eye fluttering shut. "Just good to rest again."

"The physician said you were to sleep as much as you needed for the next couple of days," said Arthur.

"I know. She told me, too."

Right. Of course she had. Arthur just didn't understand the language. "Then stop your blathering and go to sleep," he said quietly.

Merlin smiled, but did not open his eye; then Arthur watched as his features relaxed and his breathing turned deep and slow.

* * *

 

If Merlin woke in the night, Arthur never heard it; his fight with the Saxon, as well as his ordeal prior to that, had left him more fatigued than he'd realized, and he slept solidly until morning. When he woke, the sun was streaming in through the shutters, and he could hear other guests of the inn moving through the corridor. Opening the shutters, he squinted into the courtyard and saw servants fetching water from the pump there, and thatchers already at work repairing the roof from last night's lightning strike.

Last night's magical battle.

Arthur turned and leaned against the windowsill, watching Merlin sleep. The man was a conundrum. Everything Arthur's father had ever taught him about magic and sorcerers seemed to be proven a lie by his own servant. Or no, it was more complicated than that; it was if Merlin was both truth and lie, at the same time. He was magical, he'd been keeping secrets from Arthur, he'd lied to Arthur's face for the entire time Arthur had known him… and yet he was also genuinely kind, guilelessly charming, and a friend to nearly everyone he met. Certainly he was Arthur's closest and truest friend, a steadfast companion more than he had ever been a servant… and Arthur could not forget that Merlin had saved his life more than once.

Arthur thought back to something Merlin had said yesterday. Uther had made it clear: Merlin had left Camelot knowing that if he didn't find Arthur, he wouldn't be welcome to return; he'd left knowing that Uther found him expendable, regardless of the gold and the letter of marque the king had given him. He'd been willing to give up his home, his livelihood, _everything_ , all for Arthur.

Arthur was a prince, yes, but did he truly deserve that degree of loyalty, just because of his station? If the past few days had taught him anything, it was that the very concept of "station" was a lie; any man could be brought low or raised up by circumstances and fate. Merlin, he realized, had always seemed to understand that implicitly. The real question, then, was whether Arthur _himself_ deserved that degree of loyalty from Merlin, and why Merlin so clearly thought the answer was yes.

Did he have an agenda? What would a sorcerer want with the prince of Camelot? And if Merlin really was as uncaring of Arthur's position as he seemed to be, then what would he want with Arthur, specifically?

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. He could make a reasonable guess at what _he_ would want, if their positions were reversed, if Merlin were the prince and Arthur the sorcerer. But Merlin…

Was Merlin the sort of person to want anything from anybody? All right, foolish question; everyone wanted something. But was he the sort of person who would connive and scheme to get it?

Arthur didn't think so, and that was somehow more vexing than if he really did believe Merlin would do something like that.

He ran his hand down his face, feeling several days' worth of beard there, and shook his head with a sigh. All this thinking on an empty stomach was only going to give him a headache. He would see about food, then see about shaving, and he'd think about difficult things once he felt human again.

* * *

 

Breakfast was a quick affair, a simple sideboard consisting of foods that didn't require cooking; only the pots of hot tea seemed to need any effort from the staff at all, and Arthur honestly wasn't sure whether they were using fire or magic to keep the drinks hot. As Arthur ate, he was relieved to see Nicolas in the common area, clearing tables as guests left, and quickly made arrangements for him to bring broth and something to drink for when Merlin awoke. Unfortunately, he had no way to know when Merlin would wake. "Hopefully the broth won't have gone cold by then," he muttered to himself.

"Ah, no, my lord. The magic will keep it warm for him, no matter when he wakes," Nicolas explained, and Arthur frowned. He hadn't want to think about magic at all, so early in the day, but this moment seemed like a perfect opportunity to learn something important.

"Magic is really so commonplace here?" he asked.

"Oui, of course," said Nicolas with a shrug. "Not many people are born with the ability, like your friend, and fewer still have any great strength, but almost anyone can learn a little and put it to use."

Arthur blinked, not having expected that answer. Everything Uther had taught him of magic had made it seem as if it could only be used for destruction. "I see."

It made him wonder: What did Merlin use it for?

"I shall bring what you need in a few minutes: if that is acceptable, my lord?"

"Fine," said Arthur, already half lost in thought. "Thank you."

He walked slowly back to the room, half dreading the quiet he knew he would find there. He had originally resolved to put off difficult thoughts until later, as he'd been doing throughout yesterday, but it seemed the time to face them was at hand.

* * *

 

Magic. Merlin had it, and Arthur wasn't sure what to do about it. By the laws of Camelot, Arthur should kill Merlin. At the very least, Arthur should send him away. Arthur's heart, though, had other ideas; he sighed, and looked once again at the man sleeping in the other bed.

By the laws of Camelot, magic was only ever a destructive, corrupting force that ruined men all the way down to their very souls. Yet here they were in Normandy, surrounded by proof that that belief was false. Arthur could not, would not, execute a man based on faulty premises… never mind that those premises were all he'd ever been taught.

The thought of killing Merlin filled Arthur with dread; every inch of him rebelled at the thought of hurting his best friend.

 _A prince cannot have friends_ , came his father's voice. This closeness to Merlin, this vulnerability, was a weakness that others could exploit. Sparing a man's life just out of friendship… well, it wouldn't be Uther's way, that much was certain.

Even so, Arthur couldn't bear the thought of seeing Merlin face either headsman or hangman, never mind the pyre. If nothing else, executing him would be a poor way to repay him for saving Arthur's life, and rescuing him from slavery. That, at least, seemed like a reason that a king could justify.

There was always banishment as an option, but when Arthur looked at Merlin, that idea seemed terrible, too. Send him into exile, away from his home and all he cared about? Arthur could at least justify doing so as a way to keep Merlin safe, except that they'd already had that argument, and it was clear to Arthur that Merlin simply wouldn't go. He'd endanger himself to stay close to Arthur.

Maybe he'd accept a temporary banishment, just until Arthur became king… but on further reflection, Arthur really doubted it.

The real crux of the problem, though, wasn't that Merlin had magic. It was that Arthur didn't know enough about magic to be able to make an informed decision.

He shut his eyes and sighed, then stood up and began rummaging through his bags for his shaving kit. His thoughts were only going around in circles, and the quiet of the room was already getting to him. Arthur had a feeling today would be long and excruciating, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

 

He had just finished getting rid of his beard when Nicolas knocked on the door, carrying a pot of soup and two bowls, as well as a smaller pot of hot water and the makings for tea. Arthur had to fish a coin out of Merlin's purse to give to the man for his service.

 After Nicolas had gone, Arthur hung up the purse and its belt in Merlin's wardrobe, but as he was closing the cabinet door, he spotted a book lying on the shelf, almost but not quite hidden behind the clothes hanging in front of it.

"What are you doing with a book?" he wondered aloud, pulling it out to look at. There was no title on the spine or cover, and it looked quite old. If this was what he thought it was, it would be a miracle that Merlin hadn't been caught with it and executed before now.

Sure enough, it was: on the very first page was written _"The Arte of MAGICKE: being a Compendium of the Historie, Lore, and Uses of the Forces of the Natural Worlde, with a selected Sampling of Spells and Incantations."_ Arthur nearly groaned aloud, and glared over his shoulder at the sleeping man. "Only you, Merlin. Only you. I don't even want to know where you got such a thing."

Nevertheless, Arthur brought it to the table and sat down; it wasn't as if he had anything better to do while he waited for Merlin to wake up. He turned to the next page, and began to read.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin wakes, and Arthur tends to him; they talk about magic while Merlin recovers. Arthur learns about the prophecy of the Once and Future King, and questions Merlin about their friendship, then reaches a decision regarding Merlin's future in Camelot.

Light from the setting sun was slanting in through the window when Merlin finally woke up. Arthur looked up from his reading at the sound of the other man's moan; Merlin was reaching for his injury and stirring sleepily.

Arthur marked his place in the book and closed it carefully. "Merlin," he called softly. "Merlin. Can you hear me?"

"Mm." Merlin's eyelids flickered once, twice, before he managed to open his uncovered eye; it took a moment, but finally he turned his head and focused on Arthur. He still looked pathetic and half-dead, but maybe not quite as much so as the night before. "Yeah." He blinked dazedly, and added, "How long was I out?"

"Last night, and most of today," said Arthur. He got up and crossed over, sitting on Merlin's bed so he wouldn't have to crane his neck to see. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty." His hand came up again and touched the poultice. "A bit like someone used me for a battering ram."

Arthur huffed a little laugh. "I'm not surprised, considering. Here, come on." He leaned forward and got his hands under Merlin's armpits and began hauling him upright.

"What are you… oh god, go slow or I'm going to throw up."

Arthur stiffened, and slowed down, moving as gingerly and carefully as he could. "Right." It would be just his luck if the other man did get sick, all over Arthur; he was no kind of nursemaid, accustomed to the rough handling that was all the knights really knew how to provide for their injured comrades. "Is this better?" he asked, when Merlin was more or less upright.

"Depends." Oh. Merlin's face was mashed into Arthur's shoulder, a bit. "What are you trying to do, anyway?"

"Sit you up so you can drink something," said Arthur. "Don't you dare throw up."

"Prat," mumbled Merlin. "You'd deserve it if I did."

That was… probably true, but Arthur would be damned if he admitted it. "Treason," he said instead.

"Does this count as a hug?" asked Merlin. Arthur could hear the amusement in his voice, insolent thing that he was.

"I _will_ drop you, just watch me." With one arm, he kept Merlin leaning against him, while with his free hand he pulled Merlin's pillow up so he could lean against it. "There," he said, easing Merlin back into position. "Still think you're going to heave?"

"Mm." Merlin's eye was closed again. "Probably not, but give me a minute before you bring me anything to drink. Oh, this hurts."

"The physician left some medicine, if you think you can stomach it."

"Yeah, probably should. And the poultice should probably be changed out."

"She didn't leave any extra poultices."

Merlin opened his eye in a slow blink. "This one's still done. Most poultices only last about twenty-four hours. Gaius told me."

Arthur bit his lip, feeling suddenly awkward. "Would that… do you think it'd be the same for magic poultices?" he asked.

"Magic?"

"The physician spoke a spell over it after she put it on you. Don't you remember?"

Merlin's gaze went out of focus for a moment before he answered. "Oh, yeah. I guess I do." He glanced over at Arthur. "Surprised you let her."

Arthur couldn't help but make a little face at that. "I didn't exactly have much choice, did I?"

"Arthur—"

He held up his hand, and Merlin stopped. "Never mind. The point is you're improving. You're a lot less addle-brained than you were last night, although in your case I suppose that's not saying much." Rolling his shoulders, Arthur got up and found the medicine, still sitting on the end of the table. Carefully, he poured out enough to fill the little green dosage bottle, then brought it over and sat back down. "Here. It's supposed to be for the pain and nausea, if Nicolas translated everything right."

"Nicolas?"

"A servant who works here at the inn. He speaks our language, so the innkeeper had him assist the physician."

"I see." Merlin sniffed dubiously at the medicine, then raised his eyebrow in surprise and drank it willingly. "Oh," he said, blinking in surprise. "Oh, she's enchanted that too."

"Is it all right?"

"It actually tastes good. I mean, yeah, bitter aftertaste from the herbs, but there's honey and mint in there too."

Arthur blinked, not sure how to respond to that. "Let me get you water," he said, taking the bottle and turning away. "And there's broth if you want it. They're keeping it hot with magic, too. Everything in this bloody place has magic," he added under his breath.

Merlin waited until Arthur turned around, cup of water in hand, to ask, "It's not really that bad, is it?"

Arthur sighed, handed him the drink, and then folded his arms, glancing away. "It's everywhere, isn't it? Doesn't matter what I think, there's no escaping it. Here or even in Camelot. It's in the air and water and earth, right?"

Merlin paused, the cup halfway to his lips. "How do you know that?"

The prince gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. "I read your book," he confessed. "Didn't have anything better to do all day."

" _You_ read a magic book." _And didn't set fire to it_ , went unspoken but was very clear in Merlin's expression.

"I wanted to know why anyone would want to embrace magic, rather than treating it like a curse. A disease. Corruption, as my father would say. I wanted… I wanted to understand."

Merlin's entire expression softened, and if Arthur didn't know better, he'd think that tears were welling up in the other man's good eye.

"Oh for God's sake, don't tell me you're going to cry over it. You're such a girl, Merlin."

"The son of Uther Pendragon actually looking to understand magic rather than just eradicate it. You'll excuse me if I'm feeling a little emotional, sire. It's nice to know you won't run me through in my sleep over this."

Arthur couldn't quite repress the shudder at the thought. "I'm not a murderer."

"No," said Merlin, "I suppose you're not."

* * *

 

Merlin's head might still be pounding, medicine or no medicine, but even with the pain and dizziness, he was happy enough that he felt as though he might float away if he weren't careful. Who knew? With his magic, that might even be possible.

Arthur seemed to have finally accepted that magic wasn't evil. The book, _Merlin's_ book, which Merlin had always kept hidden for fear that it would be destroyed, had turned out to be the irrefutable proof that Arthur had seemed to need: a history of the Old Religion and benevolent magic that predated the Purge, meaning that it couldn't be attributed to anyone's personal bias or agenda, couldn't be accused of having been written only to contradict the king and confuse the prince.

That wasn't to say that the prince in question was suddenly overcome with wonder and joy at the beauty of magic. He wasn't exactly ready to embrace it, instead of trying to destroy it. On the contrary, Arthur seemed only reluctantly curious, and even a little resentful that he couldn't escape the existence of magic and people who knew how to use it.

But still, it was something. Merlin could hope that Arthur would open himself to "wonder and joy" in the future; for now, if Arthur could only accept the futility of killing magic users, and be convinced to _stop_ when he was king, it was enough. It was more than Merlin had ever dared hope for, truth be told.

He glanced down at the bed, just to check that he wasn't floating off the mattress, and hid a smile of pure relief.

* * *

 

As happy as Merlin was, however, over the next two days, he and Arthur didn't really talk as much as Merlin was used to. Granted, for his part, Merlin was sleeping a lot and recovering from his head injury, which according to Arthur would have been quite serious indeed but for Madame Claudile's intervention. Merlin would have to find a way to thank her for saving his life.

When Merlin _was_ awake, though, Arthur was often too lost in thought to carry on a conversation. He asked Merlin questions about magic, and Merlin answered as best he could, but then Arthur wouldn't follow up. He wouldn't argue, he wouldn't tell Merlin what he was thinking… it was a little bit worrying, but Merlin was still concussed enough that he didn't spend too much time thinking about it.

Arthur was definitely no physician and not much of a nursemaid, but he tended to Merlin diligently anyway, bringing him soup and medicine whenever he awoke, and helping him keep from falling over when he needed to sit up and use the chamber pot. It wasn't long before Merlin was making short trips around the room with one hand on the wall for balance, just to get out of the bed and stretch his legs a bit, keep his strength up.

"Have you decided whether or not I'm coming back to Camelot with you?" he asked on the third day. His chin itched, and he thought he might ask to borrow Arthur's razor before too much longer.

Arthur didn't answer at first; Merlin turned carefully until he could look over his shoulder without making himself dizzy. Arthur was staring at the open book, or maybe at the table, but either way he was refusing to look at Merlin.

"You would be safer if you didn't," he said finally. His voice was quiet, though, and he didn't sound as though he were gearing up to make it a proclamation.

" _You_ would be safer if I did, though," Merlin pointed out. "I've saved your life a dozen times already. And Uther's at least once, too. And Camelot in general…"

"I know," said Arthur. He scrubbed his hands over his face, sighing loudly. "Technically, as your liege lord, I am responsible for everything you do, Merlin. If you commit a crime, if you get caught, I'm responsible for your punishment. And with my father being who he is, he wouldn't be satisfied with _lenience_. Hell, with my father being who he is, I'm as likely to be punished as you, because he'll assume that I either knew what you were up to, or were too forgiving a master and allowed you too much free rein. What you do reflects on me, and on the entire royal household. Do you have any idea how precarious your position really is?"

Merlin just gave Arthur a _look._ "Arthur. If I'm found out, I die hideously, and everyone close to me is likely to be executed too, just for associating with me or harboring me. My position is already pretty damn precarious."

But Arthur was shaking his head helplessly. "And you… don't care?"

"Of course I do! It's why I'm careful! It's why I've never been caught!"

The look Arthur gave him then was indescribable. "You've been caught, Merlin. If Lancelot had been literally _anyone_ else, you'd be dead, and all those horrible things you just said would likely have come true already."

It was Merlin's turn to sigh. "But they didn't."

"But they could have!"

"But they _didn't_ ," Merlin pressed. "Look, what is it that's really bothering you? Uther isn't going to kill _you_ , trust me."

"I just can't understand why you would even _want_ to stay in Camelot, knowing the risks not only to you, but to everyone around you. When I thought magic was evil, I thought maybe you had some sort of agenda. Now that I know magic is… it simply _is_ , I'm almost _more_ convinced that you have some reason to stay. Why are you close to me? What do you want?"

Ah. Merlin took a slow, deep breath, then let go of the wall. It was still a bit difficult to walk a straight line, but he made it to the table and reached for his book, closing it as Arthur watched.

"I was reading that."

Merlin ignored him and balanced the book on its spine, holding it closed with one hand on each cover. "Tell us about Arthur," he said clearly, then let the book fall open. He tipped his head, and sure enough, the second column on the left-hand page had a heading in red ink, _Heere Begynneth Ye Prophecy et Lore of Ye Once and Future Kynge_. Merlin slid the book back across the table to Arthur.

"Did you just cast a spell on your book?"

Again, Merlin ignored him. "Read that," he said instead, and made his way back to the bed. He tired easily at the moment, and knew he'd be asleep soon, but he had a feeling he and Arthur would have a lot to talk about once he woke up again.

* * *

 

Sure enough, Arthur was waiting when Merlin opened his eyes again, early the next morning. "A prophecy," was the first thing out of his mouth. "That's why you stay?"

"Good morning to you too," mumbled Merlin, sitting up. His head was feeling enough better that he thought they might finally be able to leave for Camelot today or tomorrow.

"Answer me, Merlin," said Arthur, and there was a note in his voice that gave Merlin pause. He looked up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The prince looked as though Merlin had personally betrayed him somehow.

"What's wrong?"

"This prophecy!" he exclaimed, flinging one hand back to where the book still sat on the table. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes, and Merlin wondered whether he had even gone to bed. "Is that the only reason you stay?"

"It was at first," said Merlin. Arthur's face fell, and Merlin was quick to continue. " _At first_ , I said. At first I couldn't stand you, but someone had to keep you alive and apparently the old gods picked me. You were a prat. I told the dragon that if someone wanted to kill you, I'd help. Destiny could find a different prince to lift up, because this one was an ass."

Arthur's mouth opened, then shut again. He blinked several times. "There's a dragon, now?"

"Your father keeps him imprisoned under the castle," said Merlin. "And he called to me somehow, my first night in Camelot. He's the one who told me about the prophecy." Merlin scowled, glancing away. "I get the feeling he hasn't told me everything, though. The bastard has his own agenda. He's not the helpful, wise old being he pretended to be when we first met."

There was another long pause as Arthur visibly processed that. "What does _he_ want, then?" he asked finally.

He's helped me save your life in the past," admitted Merlin, "but his help has a price. He wants me to free him."

"He'd probably set fire to Camelot," said Arthur. Then he sighed. "Not that I could blame him, if my father is the one who locked him down there."

"Right," said Merlin.

"But… is that really the only reason you stay?"

Merlin smiled; Arthur might pretend he didn't have feelings, but he couldn't hide them from Merlin. "Nah," he said. "You grew on me. Kind of like a fungus."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but one corner of his mouth was curling up. "Lovely."

"We're friends, Arthur," Merlin went on, "even if you don't like to admit it. I stayed at first because I thought I didn't have a choice, it's true. But I stay now because I want to, because I've seen the person you are when you're not acting like a prat. I've seen not just the king you'll be, but the man you already are. And I believe in the world you're going to build."

Arthur looked away briefly, before his eyes met Merlin's again. "And you're not going to try and… push your own idea of what that world should look like?" he asked.

Anyone else would, Merlin knew, but he shook his head. "You're the one who's going to be king," he said. He was quieter as he went on, "Arthur, you're the one my magic is _for_. I grew up thinking I was some sort of freak, before I heard about this prophecy. You're… I was born to serve you, not push my own wants onto you. If you are the destined king, then I'm just here to make sure you live long enough to get there." He shrugged, and added, "And all right, _maybe_ I should do what I can to make sure you're not a complete ass when you do."

The smile Arthur had been hiding finally broke free, and Merlin's joined it.

"Suppose you can't really do that from Nemeth, then, can you," he said. "Or Normandy."

"No," Merlin agreed, grinning at what Arthur wasn't saying, "no, I suppose I can't."


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur prepare to leave for Albion, saying their farewells at the inn. Before their ship departs, they explore the dockside market and buy gifts for their loved ones in Camelot.

"How does it look?" Merlin asked Arthur the next day. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, probing carefully at the injury around his temple and eye. "Can I borrow your mirror?"

"You really should, that beard you're growing looks ridiculous." Arthur fished his shaving kit out from his pack and set it on the table. "But if you're asking about your eye, it's looking better than it was."

"I know the swelling has finally gone down, at least. I can actually open it."

"The bruising is a lot better, too," said Arthur. "Here. Come look, if you're going to."

Carefully, Merlin stood and shuffled his way over to the table, with a minimum of weaving and vertigo. "I'm pretty sure I'm good to travel back home," he said. Peering into the mirror, he squinted a little, adding, "If this is 'better', I don't want to know what 'worse' looked like."

"It was worse," Arthur deadpanned. "And you've got to be kidding me, you can barely even walk straight."

"You can hold me up."

"I'm the _prince_ , Merlin, I'm not going to go out in public propping up someone that everyone thinks is drunk."

"They won't think I'm drunk when they see this black eye, and you're not prince in Normandy," Merlin pointed out. "And besides, once I'm on a horse, the horse can walk a straight line for me."

"Horses are probably more competent than you at a lot of things," muttered Arthur, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Hilarious as always, sire," said Merlin. "But I know you're anxious to get back home. I'm only sorry I've delayed us."

Behind him in the mirror, Arthur's mouth worked as though he were thinking of something unpleasant. "It wasn't your fault," was all he said.

"I know. Still."

Arthur watched as Merlin soaped his face and throat, then used Arthur's razor to remove the beard that had started to come in while he'd been on bed rest. For all that Merlin might still get dizzy when he stood up too quickly, his hands were steady and sure, gliding the blade across his skin in smooth, even strokes.

"You're more competent than you look, aren't you," said Arthur, when Merlin was done.

Merlin rinsed the blade and wiped it off before splashing his face, removing the last of the soap. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you can't naturally be that clumsy, and then turn around and be that… powerful," Arthur replied. "How strong of a sorcerer are you, anyway?"

Merlin shrugged uncomfortably. "Don't really know. Gaius told me a little of the legends. I'm supposed to be the strongest sorcerer that's ever been born, or ever will be. I dunno if that's true, though."

"From what the book said…" Arthur glanced away, making Merlin turn around in his seat.

"What did the book say?"

At that, Arthur frowned. "I thought you'd read it already."

"Some of it," said Merlin. "But you may have noticed, it's a pretty weird book. Sometimes I get the feeling that there are things in there that I'm not supposed to know yet, so it won't show them to me. When I asked it to tell us about you, that was the first time I'd ever seen that passage. I don't have any idea what it says about me."

"Well, let's just say that the legends are probably true. About you having strong magic, I mean. I suspect you'd need it," he muttered uncomfortably, "if you're supposed to be helping me be some prophesied king."

"I dunno," said Merlin again. "Maybe." Then he smiled. "Probably, with the way you're always getting into trouble."

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

 

They packed slowly, Arthur actually helping Merlin with anything that required him to bend down, because he still had a tendency to tip over if he bent too far. With Merlin being incapacitated for the past few days, and Arthur being something of a slob, their clothing was scattered across the floor; the table would have been in the same state if it hadn't been for the inn's servants clearing away their meals each evening. Arthur had claimed to Merlin that he preferred to eat in private, but Merlin suspected that he simply hadn't felt comfortable eating by himself in the common room, where no one else spoke his language. And of course it helped that for a while, Merlin had barely been able to sit up long enough to feed himself.

He'd never admit it, Merlin knew, but Arthur had to at least feel like he owed it to Merlin to keep him company while he recovered. Maybe he had even been worried, too, given the way he'd fussed, but Merlin wasn't willing to swear to it.

Finally they were ready; Merlin's silk and velvet finery was cleaned and packed away, and he wore his new linen shirt and leather vest instead, under his blue cloak. Arthur had mocked him relentlessly over the embroidery on the boots and cloak, until Merlin had threatened to turn his own clothing every shade of the rainbow _except_ Camelot red. "You'd look dashing in pale yellow and bright green," Merlin had claimed cheerfully. "Oh, and with purple trousers!"

"The only reason I'm not sitting on you right now is because of your infirmity, Merlin."

"It's good to know you're only slightly less of a bully than I've always thought," he'd replied.

They'd sent Nicolas to the Le Havre customs house to see which ships were bound for Portsmouth, and what the tides were like; Nicolas had found them berths on a ship scheduled to leave that afternoon. It was a little disappointing that the _Young Prince_ wasn't in port, but Merlin supposed that would have been too much to expect. While he had been recovering, Merlin had told Arthur a little about the quest to find him, and mentioned Gruffydd; now he wondered aloud what the captain might have made of the prince, if they had ever crossed paths.

For his part, Arthur seemed less excited about the idea of their meeting. "Was literally everyone you met a druid of some kind?" he asked.

"No. I just got lucky when I needed to be. I suspect it had something to do with praying to the old gods."

"Treason," Arthur reminded him, hoisting his bags up on one shoulder.

Merlin sighed. "My existence is treason, Arthur. And anyway, destiny hasn't let me out of its grip since I _met_ you. You going missing, and me being the only one capable of finding you? You're the Once and Future King. Of course the old gods were going to help. All I had to do was remember to ask."

Arthur didn't answer that, making Merlin wonder if he'd pushed too hard. It was clear that it would take Arthur a long time before he was truly comfortable with magic and sorcery, and it was still possible, Merlin thought, that that day might never come. Nevertheless, he at least seemed resigned to magic's existence, and no longer willing to carry on his father's crusade to eradicate it. It was better than nothing. More importantly, he was willing to allow Merlin back into Camelot by his side. Merlin would take what he could get.

Finally, it was time to leave; bags in hand, they made their way to the common room, which was nearly empty this time of day except for a few well-dressed old men playing chess or enjoying a glass of wine. Violette was waiting for them. She nodded to Arthur, while Merlin opened his purse.

"As we agreed, my lord," she said, "one crown for the week's stay for you both. For Madame Claudile's visit, ten silver pennies should be enough."

Merlin handed over the coin, plus a little extra for the physician. "Are you sure we don't owe you for damages?" he asked, wincing a little. Arthur had told him a bit about the mayhem he'd inadvertently caused during his fight with Laurens.

"They were mended easily enough. But if you insist, I will not say no."

"Then I insist," said Merlin. "We brought trouble to your doorstep. I'd feel badly if I didn't give you at least a little something."

Violette smiled at him knowingly. "You are no lord; you are too kind for it."

"As you say," Merlin replied, ducking his head. He dropped another two gold crowns into her hand, smiling at her look of pleased surprise.

"Go well, 'my lord'," she said. "And your friend. I am glad to see that you have recovered from your injury, and I hope you have a safe journey back to your homeland."

"Thank you for taking care of us, and for your hospitality."

"It is my job," said Violette, "but you are welcome all the same."

"Your servants helped me save my friend from the slave traders," Merlin insisted. "That is more than hospitality. Here; this is for them," he said, handing her another crown.

"Merlin, what are you doing?" asked Arthur in a low tone.

"Paying for our stay," said Merlin blithely.

"I know how much it costs to stay in an inn, and you've paid more than triple that."

Violette was glancing back and forth between them, clearly wondering what their conversation was about, so Merlin smiled and thanked her one last time before stepping out onto the street.

"Merlin?"

"We gave that lady a lot of trouble, and she didn't throw us out on our ears," said Merlin. "She and her staff deserve a reward."

They walked a few steps before Arthur replied. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

* * *

 

Arthur and Merlin had agreed to board ship a couple of hours ahead of the tide, and then browse the dockside markets until it was time to leave. The idea had been Merlin's, of course.

"Only you would turn a quest into a shopping trip, Merlin," said Arthur, but he could admit, if only to himself, that he was at least a little curious too. He'd never been so far from home, and once he was king, the odds of his being able to leave Camelot at all, unless it was for war, were slim.

"I wanted to get something to replace the necklace Morgana gave me," said Merlin. "I had hoped to return it to her intact, but it's been destroyed for the gold and jewels. I used some of the jewels to buy you back," he added quietly.

"Oh." Arthur wasn't quite sure how to react to that.

Merlin, thankfully, ignored his discomfiture as he continued, "Plus I wanted to get something for Gwen, and Gaius. Uther already gave me enough gold to cover everything I needed in order to find you. None of the others had to give me anything, but they did anyway. It doesn't have to be much, but…"

"I suppose you're right," said Arthur. The last time he'd walked along this pier, he'd been barefoot and in chains. The difference now was notable. The way people looked at him, the way they got out of his way… the way they _saw_ him, the basic respect and courtesy they gave him, simply because he looked like a man and not like chattel. Merlin was actually better dressed than Arthur was, in his new clothes and fine boots; even with his black eye, the people they passed paid even more attention to him than they did to Arthur, calling out and holding up their wares, hoping the two of them would notice.

As he'd realized the first time he'd walked this pier, station was a lie; Arthur hoped he never forgot that, as long as he lived.

* * *

 

The ship was midway down the pier, with a boy on the lookout for them when they arrived. He had a missing tooth and a bright smile, which Arthur could understand, even if the words he spoke were still complete gibberish. Arthur knew Latin well enough, but clearly it was time to consider some tutoring in Norman.

They were led to the officers' cabin, near the bow of the ship, and shown where to stow their things. Merlin translated as the boy spoke, stumbling a bit over the words. "It's three hours yet till the tide turns," he said. "And he says that the captain invites us to mess—that's dinner, I mean—in his cabin if we want to join him."

"Tell him we accept," said Arthur.

"Both of us?" Merlin bit his lip. "D'you want me to serve you, or something?"

"No," said Arthur. "No, you'll get enough of that once we're back in Camelot. For now, let them think you're as noble as I am."

Merlin stared at him a little blankly, until Arthur gave him a look and jerked his chin toward the boy; then he shook himself and rattled something off in Norman that had the boy nodding and bowing, as he took himself off.

Back down in the market, Arthur couldn't help but feel anxious, surrounded by so many strangers who were not his countrymen; he brushed the hilt of his borrowed short sword and took a deep breath, forcing his shoulders to drop. He didn't speak the language, and anything could happen, so far from home.

Arthur would resent being so dependent on Merlin's command of the language, if Merlin himself weren't so oblivious to his own value and importance. The other man walked by Arthur's shoulder, leaning on him a little when he grew dizzy, and chattered endlessly, or else bounded ahead to look over various stalls, grinning over his shoulder and exclaiming at everything from bundles of herbs to a monkey on a leash, barely the size of a human baby, which sat on the shoulder of a dark-skinned merchant in strange clothing. Merlin reached up to pet it and it tried to bite him, chattering angrily, but Merlin only laughed as he jumped back.

"The merchant says he's from the southern sea, on the other side of the continent," Merlin said. "He says it's hot there year round, and they only tell the seasons apart by when it rains and when it's dry."

"He's probably just telling stories," said Arthur, smiling anyway at Merlin's excitement. "Come, have you found any gifts or not?"

The two of them explored the pier and adjacent market from one end to the other, hearing a dozen languages and admiring wares from all across the world. By the time they were finished, they were carrying a book on medicine and the most common herbs of Normandy for Gaius, along with a pottery jar full of crushed powder that was supposed to stave off fever, and another that claimed to fight infection. ("No, Arthur, they're not enchanted, they're just herbs," said Merlin.) For the girls, Merlin selected a collection of scented soaps, a comb inlaid with mother-of-pearl for Gwen, and then a pair of blue and green earrings for Morgana that reminded him of the necklace she had given him.

"They're only glass beads, not jewels, but I hope she'll like them anyway," he said. "They come from Italy, hopefully that counts for something."

"She'd probably prefer that dagger you were looking at," Arthur pointed out.

"Yes, but I don't want to risk running out of coin before we get home. We still need to find you a horse and tack, plus a better sword…"

"There's nothing wrong with this one."

"Except that Gwen gave it to me, not you."

"You're useless with a sword," said Arthur. "And it's not as if you even need one, with your… you know."

Merlin glanced up, making a face at whatever he saw in Arthur's expression. "True, but it's not something I like to go around announcing in your father's kingdom," he said dryly. "Look, we can't buy a horse until we reach Portsmouth, and that's probably the best place to find a sword too, since you won't need one aboard ship. Let's just go."

They made their way slowly through the bustling crowds and back to the ship, where the crew were already beginning to prepare to set sail. The boy pulled up the gangplank behind them, though he didn't seem too anxious to see them; according to Merlin, they were right on time.

In their cabin, Merlin began putting his things away carefully, so they wouldn't be crushed on their journey. Arthur watched him for a bit, biting his lip, trying to figure out the best way to broach what he wanted to say.

"You should have gotten something for yourself, too," he said finally, feeling awkward. "As a reward. For saving me."

Merlin's cheeks turned a little pink. "That'd be selfish, and it's not what the money is for. Anyway, I told you once, Arthur, I'm happy enough to be your servant. I don't need anything else."

"What about this?" Arthur opened his own bag and shoved a book at him, smallish, with a blue cover. Merlin took it slowly and opened it, his eyes going wide when he saw the text. "Arthur, I can't take this! Your father would have a fit. He'd kill me or Gaius or _both_ of us for hiding this."

And yet, Arthur noticed that he wasn't letting go of the book, and hadn't even looked up at Arthur to protest. "So I'll hide it in _my_ room, where he won't think to look."

"Arthur. This is a book of magic. Are you out of your mind?"

"Probably. But I've already paid for it anyway, so you may as well shut up and take it."

"Where did you even get the coin for this? How did you find it?"

"Snuck it out of your purse when you weren't looking this morning, and then had Nicolas pick it out when he went to find us a ship," he said with a smirk. "Honestly, it's a miracle you haven't been robbed blind already."

"With friends like you I won't need to worry about thieves," Merlin shot back. Then he stared at the book for a few more seconds before saying softly, "Arthur. Seriously, thank you."

Something in Arthur's chest grew warm at the expression Merlin's face. It would seem he'd made the right decision after all. "You're welcome."


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the voyage back from Normandy, Arthur and Merlin discuss magic, and Arthur does what he can to recognize Merlin for saving his life.

Merlin and Arthur were allowed to stand in the forecastle, watching as the ship's crew prepared to cross the sea. Men bustled across the deck, carrying things to and fro, hauling on ropes, or turning a great capstan to hoist the ship's anchor. Others climbed high in the rigging, high enough to make Merlin gasp. Arthur kept his reactions to himself, but even he had to admit that his heart was in his throat, watching as the rocking of the ship caused the mast to sway wildly. No one among the crew seemed the least bit concerned, but Arthur couldn't be sure whether that was because they were used to all the movement, or were all just collectively insane.

The ship cleared the breakwater marking the port's boundary, and at the captain's command, the men in the rigging tugged on the ropes that lashed the sails to the spars. The sails unfurled majestically, each one filling quickly with the wind, and were fixed in place by the crewmen as the ship began to pick up speed. It didn't seem to take long at all before the men were climbing nimbly back down again, to join in with the general commotion on deck.

"I admit, it's really something," Arthur said, still watching all the activity as the ship got under way. Merlin didn't answer, though, and Arthur pulled his gaze away long enough to see what was the matter.

Merlin was standing beside him with his eyes closed and a look of utter bliss on his face. He swayed with the motion of the ship, one hand resting only lightly on the railing to keep his balance. Arthur would have expected him to be dizzy, or even to fall over, but instead he appeared completely relaxed, his mouth turned up in the barest hint of a smile.

"Merlin?"

"It's singing," said Merlin. "Can't you hear it?"

"What are you talking about?"

Merlin opened his eyes, and to Arthur's discomfort, they were flickering with gold. Not enough to be noticeable from a distance, not like a sorcerer casting a spell, but enough to unnerve Arthur nonetheless. The other man was staring off into the distance, and Arthur had no idea what he saw.

"The wind is singing," Merlin said. "It wants to play."

"I don't think you playing with it is such a good idea," said Arthur. "You'd probably cause a tempest, out here at sea."

"I've done it before," protested Merlin. He blinked, the gold flecks fading from his eyes, and turned to focus on Arthur. "The ship I was on before, with the druid captain. He let me call up the wind to make the ship reach you faster."

"Yes, well," replied Arthur. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to find the right words to stop Merlin from using so much magic in front of him. He'd probably never get used to it all, even if he did think he could trust Merlin. "We're not in a hurry anymore, are we? We'll get there when we get there."

"I s'pose that's true," said Merlin, "but it was a lot of fun before."

"You also weren't recovering from a concussion."

"Yeah, that's true too," said Merlin. He didn't seem bothered, but even though Arthur was relieved not to see so much magic, he also couldn't help but wonder if he was being unfair.

"What, um… what was it like?" he asked, not sure if he would want to hear the answer.

Merlin _beamed_ at him, the widest grin Arthur had ever seen. "Oh, sire. I wish I had the words to explain it to you. But it's like… it's like _belonging_. Like fitting perfectly into a dance that you never knew you knew the steps to. Magic is in the earth and sea and sky, I know you read that, right?"

"Right…"

"Well, when you're at a place where all three meet, that place can be sacred. Even if it isn't, the magic just… _flows_. I can't even describe it. And here we are, with sea below us and sky above. You can argue that the ship is even like a little bit of earth. Or maybe it's because the ship before belonged to a druid, I don't know. But everything just felt _right._ The wind wanted something to play with and push against, and the, the waves and currents of the sea were curious and wanted to see what I was doing, and the ship is just perfectly balanced between both sea and sky… it's…" He shook his head. "I wish you could feel it, Arthur. You'd never think magic was evil again."

* * *

 

Arthur didn't really answer, and the two men watched the sunset together in companionable silence, observing as the sun turned the sky red and burnished the sea until it shone like bronze. It was beautiful, and Merlin felt something in him relax with a sigh as the sun sank beneath the waves. He loved Camelot, truly, but there was something so soothing about being away from civilization for just a little while, about surrounding himself with nature.

"Do you feel that?" he asked softly, as the sky began to darken.

"Feel what?" asked Arthur.

"It's so peaceful. Out here away from everybody. No obligations, no need to hurry from one place to the next, no… no worrying about whether I'll be caught and killed for using magic."

"No worrying about how my father will react when I come home," said Arthur. "Yes. It is peaceful."

The ship's bell rang twice, and the boy who had first shown them aboard came scrambling up the forecastle stairs. "Cap'n says dinner'll be ready soon, milords," he said.

"We'll be down in a moment," said Merlin. Turning to Arthur, he shrugged. "Dinner's ready."

"So much for peace," said Arthur. "Hope you're up to translating."

"I feel fine," said Merlin, and he did. Perhaps being at sea, surrounded by so much ambient magic, had helped him to heal a little further. He didn't even feel dizzy when he turned to climb down the stairs. "If you don't want to go to the dinner…"

"No, we more or less have to. It's an etiquette thing."

"Oh. Sorry."

Fortunately, dinner with the captain turned out not to be a troublesome affair after all. The steward was waiting when they crossed the deck and showed them where to go; the food was tasty, and the company relaxed.

Merlin kept himself busy, translating back and forth for Arthur and the captain, but otherwise kept his mouth shut as much as he could. The captain and senior officers surely noticed his black eye, but none of them chose to comment. Merlin's table manners were probably not the greatest, but he kept his eye on what everyone else did and tried to imitate them, and it seemed to go all right.

The captain, whose name was Phillipe, didn't seem interested in interrogating the prince, and Camelot's trade by sea was limited, so Arthur couldn't really talk much about imports and exports, or anything like that. The captain didn't seem to mind, though; he and the officers took turns telling stories of grand adventures they had had, at sea or in port. The room was filled with joking and laughter, or exclamations of amazement, depending on the story being told. Merlin had no idea how many of them were true, or exaggerated, but he was enjoying himself immensely, making Arthur laugh as he drank his wine.

Arthur hadn't had opportunity to laugh in far too long, he thought. It was good to see him finally relaxing now.

When it was Arthur's turn to tell a story, he nodded, then thought for a moment.

"I am fond of hunting," he said finally, Merlin translating all the while. "And once, not too long ago, I had the misfortune of nearly being gored by a boar. My hunting party consisted of several close acquaintances, a few beaters, my manservant here," he indicated Merlin, "and a man who said he was looking for work. I hired him to beat the bushes for the day." Merlin narrowed his eyes at Arthur, who only sipped his wine suavely. "Keep talking, Merlin."

"If you make me out to be a fool in this story, I'll tell it my way instead."

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised," said Arthur, before turning back to their audience. "When the boar broke cover, it was massive. Easily as tall at the shoulder as you or I, and with tusks the length of my forearm. Fast, too, faster than any hound I've ever seen." He paused to take in the appreciative murmurs of the officers and captain. "We were all caught by surprise, not realizing it was so close. It was a lucky thing, then, that someone with a spear got in a lucky shot, at the last possible second before I would have been overrun."

Merlin stopped. "I'm getting thirsty," he said suspiciously.

"So drink, but keep going," replied Arthur. He waited until Merlin had sipped at his own wine before continuing. "The spear felled this gigantic boar in only one blow. I demanded to know who had thrown it, but at first no one spoke up. Then the day hire I mentioned to you, the one looking for work, raised his hand. He seemed modest. I asked what reward he might want, and he requested a position in the roy—in my father's household." Arthur shook his head. "I should have made inquiries into his background, but I didn't. So he was hired…" Arthur sighed dramatically. "He turned out to be a thief."

The captain laughed. Through Merlin, he said, "Surely this story has a happy ending!"

"Oh, it does," said Arthur. "My manservant did not like him from the start. Did not trust him, at all, not even an inch." Arthur looked Merlin in the eye. "And he was right not to," he said quietly. Merlin wasn't quite sure whether to translate all this or not, until Arthur nodded in encouragement. So Merlin did, feeling his face burn with the force of his blush. "That I did not listen to him was my own failing, and arrogance. I assumed he was merely jealous of his own position."

"So then what happened?" asked one of the officers. Arthur did not even wait for Merlin to translate the question before he went on.

"Well, the thief ingratiated himself to me, made my servant look foolish by tripping him up and blaming him for various incidents—incidents which he probably arranged himself—and generally tricked me into thinking he would be a better servant than Merlin here. I made the two of them trade duties… and as soon as I permitted him entrance to my chambers, the thief stole my keys and raided my father's vaults."

"This does not yet seem like a happy ending," said Phillipe.

"The happy ending is that my servant forgave me my stupidity and arrogance, saved my life and my father's life when the thief revealed himself, and was willing to remain in my service despite the way I had treated him previously," said Arthur, not taking his eyes off Merlin's. "And now, here we are, returning from Normandy, where he has saved my life yet again. Gentlemen, I propose a toast to Merlin's continued good health and his discerning judgment of character."

The men laughed, and cheered, and one even patted Merlin on the shoulder as they raised their glasses to him. He looked incredulously at Arthur, but the prince only smiled softly, raised his own glass, and drained it in two swallows.

* * *

 

"You didn't have to do that," said Merlin, once they were snugly in their cabin. He thought his cheeks might still be aflame, even a half-hour after Arthur had decided to call attention to him like that. They were changing into night clothes by lamplight; the lamp swung back and forth with the movement of the ship, making the shadows sway and stretch.

"Yes, I did," said Arthur quietly. He hoisted himself up, having insisted—naturally—on taking the top bunk. "My father isn't likely to give you much reward, after all. He'll say something about you having done your duty, maybe give you a couple of gold coins, and that will be that. Even if he were to hold a banquet to celebrate my return, you'd be expected to be at my elbow, pouring my wine, the same as you've always done."

"I don't mind that," Merlin said, as he blew out the lamp and climbed into his own bunk. The creaking of the ship seemed loud in the darkness. "It's not really safe for me to get too much recognition, after all."

"Maybe not from him," Arthur acknowledged. "But you deserved something. I know it isn't much, a toast from a bunch of total strangers—"

"You also got me that book," said Merlin.

"A book. If you were anyone else, you'd be knighted or titled for this," Arthur pressed. He sounded annoyed. "Given lands and estates to manage."

"I don't want lands and estates!"

"Just as well, then, I suppose," said Arthur. "I'm only saying, if you weren't a peasant, a servant, my father would reward you as you deserve."

"As long as he doesn't grow suspicious that I was able to find you when no one else could, and cut my head off anyway, I'll be perfectly happy," said Merlin. He shifted, pulling the blanket up. It was a warm season, but nights at sea were apparently always chilly and a little damp. Merlin supposed that made sense, with all the water around them. "Really, Arthur, I don't mind. I've told you before, I'm happy to be your servant. I don't need anything else." Although, in his heart of hearts, Merlin couldn't help but feel a bit gratified at having gotten a little something for a change. It was nice to be seen, to not have to lie and pass the credit for his work off to Gaius, or a knight, or anyone else. "I suppose I should at least say thank you, though. For the gesture. You didn't have to do that, but it was nice."

He could hear Arthur's smile in his voice. "You're welcome."

They settled in and the quiet grew between them, the creaking and motion of the ship a soothing lull. Merlin's eyes were closed and he was half drifting when Arthur spoke again.

"Still awake?"

"Mm. Not really."

"Ah. Never mind then."

Merlin frowned, opening his eyes in the dark. "What is it?"

"It's nothing."

"Arthur."

The prince sighed, and Merlin heard him shifting around above him. "It's only… something you said earlier. When we were first getting underway."

"Yeah?"

"You said if I could feel magic, I'd never believe it was evil again."

Merlin shrugged, even though Arthur couldn't see him. "'S true."

"But it can be used for evil things," said Arthur. "It can kill people."

Merlin took a deep breath. "Sure, I agree," he said. "But… the ocean can kill people, too, right? And you wouldn't say that the ocean is evil. You'd respect it, and do what you could to avoid danger, but you wouldn't _hate_ it, because what good would that do? A, a tree could fall over in a storm and kill a man, but you wouldn't say the tree was evil, or the storm. They're just following nature. Maybe the tree was hollow or rotten already, maybe it was just its time to come down. Maybe the man being caught out in the storm was just bad luck, or his own foolishness. But none of that is evil."

There was a pause, then Arthur said thoughtfully, "I think I see."

"Magic is powerful, you're right," said Merlin. "And it can be used for terrible ends. But just like fire can be used to cook a meal or destroy a person's home, it's not really the fire's fault, no matter what happens. It's the person who uses it, and _how_ they use it, that matters."

"Then how do you regulate something like that?" asked Arthur. "How do you keep people safe from those who would use magic destructively?"

"I dunno," Merlin admitted. "But, I mean, Normandy seems to have it figured out, right?"

"I suppose so…"

"And Nemeth keeps their sorcery quiet, but it's there. Camelot maybe even had laws before Uther began the Purge," said Merlin. "I think… I think probably the best way to keep people from using magic to harm, is to not give them a reason to in the first place."

Arthur scoffed. "I'm not going to _coddle_ magic users, Merlin."

"Nobody said anything about coddling," Merlin replied with a frown. "But the people who come after you and Uther and Camelot, well, they've all got a pretty damn good reason to try and wipe out the Pendragons, don't they? After what Uther has done to them and their loved ones. If you don't give someone a reason to try and kill you, then for the most part they won't bother with you, will they?"

"…I suppose not."

"Even bandits have a reason for what they do," said Merlin. "They're hungry, a lot of them. In lean years when the crops fail, you see more people take to the countryside, trying to steal what they need to feed themselves and their families."

"Really." Arthur sounded intrigued. Or maybe skeptical; it was hard to tell when Merlin couldn't see his face.

"Trust me, I grew up a farmer. Ealdor was one of the places bandits would _hit_ , and they always did it more in the lean years. They're desperate. I'm not saying it's not a crime, because it is. People suffer, people _die_ , because of bandits. But if they weren't desperate in the first place, there wouldn't _be_ any bandits to go out and hurt people at all."

"Huh. I'd have to sit down with the records," mused the prince, "compare the bandit reports with the harvest records, and see if there were a pattern."

Merlin snorted. "There is."

"But none of that has anything to do with sorcerers," Arthur reminded him.

"Desperate men do desperate things," sighed Merlin. "Magic or no magic. A man will do what he has to, to survive. Some people go into hiding, like me, like the druids. Some people have had enough of running, and they stand and fight. And they fight _you_ because you're easier to get to than Uther."

There was another long pause, and Merlin had nearly drifted off again when Arthur said, "I hate it when you start making sense."

Merlin yawned. "You just don't like it because I'm not as thick as you."

A pillow swung down in the darkness from the top bunk and swatted Merlin in the face. Grinning, he yanked it out of Arthur's grip before Arthur could pull it back, and settled it under his own head. "Thanks, sire."

"Merlin!"

"G'night, sire!"

"Merlin…"

A loud, fake snore was his response.

"Merlin. If you don't give me back my pillow, I will climb down out of this bunk, dump you on the floor, and steal all your blankets for myself. And then throw you in the stocks once we reach Camelot."

"Mm, so much for deserving a reward," said Merlin. With a put-upon sigh, he floated the pillow up with his magic, and swatted Arthur with it, twice.

"Merlin!"


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur arrive at Portsmouth, and see about purchasing provisions.

Merlin woke to dim light coming through the cabin porthole, perhaps a little after sunrise, and dressed quietly, trying not to wake Arthur or anyone else. The prince's snores were matched by those of three or four other officers, who had gone to their own bunks in the middle of the night, but the rest were empty. Merlin supposed they must take it in shifts to run the vessel, the same as the rest of the sailors did.

He followed his nose to the ship's galley, where a portly cook was serving up bowls of porridge to a waiting line of sailors, all talking amongst themselves. Merlin thought to get in line, too, but when he did, several of the sailors eyed him up and down, elbowing one another, making Merlin wonder if he was allowed to be here at all. The cook, however, only winked at him, and jerked his head toward a table where the other officers were sitting, waiting to be served.

It would be good to be back in Camelot, he thought, and no longer have to pretend to a noble. Then he could get his own damn meals without people looking at him funny.

The officers, at least, didn't seem surprised or unhappy to see Merlin. Instead, they budged over on the bench with friendly nods or sleepy grunts, and when the food came, passed him a bowl and spoon the same as anyone else.

"Sleep well, my lord?" asked one. Merlin remembered him being in the captain's cabin the night before.

"I did, thank you," he replied. "Arthur is still asleep, of course. I hope I'll be able to wake him once we reach port."

A couple of the officers chuckled. "We've one or two in our own crew like that," said another. "Captain makes us throw a bucket of water on them."

"I don't think that would go over well," said Merlin with a grin, "much as I might enjoy it myself."

"You've a couple of hours before you need to worry about waking him, in any case," said the first one. "We've made good time, but crossing toward Albion is always slower than the voyage back home."

"I didn't know that," said Merlin.

"It's to do with the wind, usually. The tides favor us, and they affect the currents through the Channel so those favor us too at the moment, but the winds usually blow from the north." The officer shrugged. "Nothing to worry about. Weather's been fair all night."

"That's good."

"Mm." The officer ate a few bites, and waited while Merlin did the same. "Are you from Portsmouth, then?"

"Further inland," Merlin admitted. "Camelot."

"Ah," was the reply. "Don't see too many folk from there. Usually they sail out of Gedref."

Merlin shrugged. "Luck brought me on a different route to Normandy, and now we have to stop in Portsmouth to collect my horse, before we can go home."

The officer chuckled again. "Well, I'll wish you a safe rest of your journey now, in case I don't see you again before you debark. As I said, we should make port in only a couple of hours. Galley will be closed by then, so your friend may not get anything hot to eat if he doesn't wake soon!"

"Eh, he'll live," said Merlin with a smile. "Besides, I'm sure there are plenty of places to eat in Portsmouth proper."

"That there are, lad." The man stood, stretched, and reached for the hat that was sitting in front of him on the table. "Fare you well."

Merlin watched him go, then bent back to his own porridge. The sailors around him all ate faster than he did, he noticed, either eager to get back to work, or else disciplined into not wasting time below deck. Before long, Merlin was the only one still sitting in the galley, scraping the last bites from his bowl.

"Sorry to take so long," he said to the cook when he was done.

"No trouble, milord," said the cook, taking his bowl and spoon and handing them off to a boy to clean. Merlin wasn't sure he believed him, but the cook went on, "Second round begins in ten minutes. I'll clean up and stow everything once _that_ lot is done eating." He grinned then, showing a missing tooth. "Best get your friend in here if he wants anything before we make port."

* * *

 

Arthur did not want anything from the ship's galley.

"Ugh, Merlin, why are you waking me at this godforsaken hour?"

"For breakfast, if you want any." The other officers in the cabin had already gone in for the cook's "second round", so it was just the two of them in the cabin now. Arthur, however, did not seem inclined to move.

"Thought ships crossing the Channel weren't at sea long enough to cook anything."

"Well… it's porridge, if that matters."

"I am not eating _porridge_ from a bowl that will probably slide right off the end of the table when the ship rocks."

Merlin blinked in realization, and started to grin. "Are you afraid you won't be able to do it? That you might slop porridge all over yourself?"

"Shut up, Merlin." Arthur swung an arm blindly down at Merlin's head, still not lifting his head from the pillow.

Merlin, of course, ducked easily, his grin only growing wider. "You are!"

"'M not afraid of _anything_ , idiot, and you know it."

"Well then come and eat, if it's no trouble."

"I didn't say it was no trouble. Porridge isn't _worth_ the trouble. Plus I'm not hungry, _and_ it's too early in the morning to be up, anyway."

"Whatever you say, sire."

Arthur heaved a sigh, then finally leaned out over the edge of his bunk. "You're not going to go away, are you?"

"No, not really," said Merlin with an easy shrug. "It's not that big of a ship, not many places to go _to,_ are there."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but began sliding off the bunk, careful not to hit his head on the low ceiling. "Fine, I'm up. Get me my clothes."

"Your bag is _right there_ ," said Merlin, but turned and did as he was asked anyway, tossing a clean tunic over his shoulder and smiling when he heard Arthur splutter.

* * *

 

There really wasn't much room on the ship, truth be told, nor much to do if one wasn't part of the crew, so before long Arthur found himself in the forecastle again with Merlin by his side. The wind was brisk, the early morning sun was bright, and Albion was a blue haze on the horizon. Arthur could hardly take his eyes off it.

God, it would be good to be home again. On his own soil…

…on his own soil, where magic was outlawed, and he would be keeping Merlin's powers a secret from the king himself.

Arthur sighed, pressing his lips together, and of course Merlin caught it. "Sire?"

"It's nothing."

Merlin waited, but when Arthur refused to say anything more, he nodded slowly, and went back to staring at the sea. "You know you can tell me anything," he said after a moment.

"I know," said Arthur, and he did. For all that Merlin had kept secrets _from_ Arthur, he was certainly skilled at keeping them _for_ him, too. Not to mention the whole bit about protecting him from magical foes, saving his life repeatedly, and rescuing him from slavers. "You're a good friend, Merlin."

At this, the other man beamed, bright enough that Arthur could catch it out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you, sire."

Merlin had mainly kept his magic a secret because he hadn't wanted to make Arthur choose between him and his father. But the way Arthur saw it, well, if Merlin could keep Arthur's confidence, then it was only fair for him to keep Merlin's.

The land on the horizon drew closer with every minute that passed, until Arthur could make out fishing boats and other ships, and hear seagulls crying on the wind. He took a deep breath, and thought he might even smell wood smoke from the city. "You said your horse is stabled at an inn here?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Merlin. "I'm sure Gaheris, the landlord, or maybe Edmund or the ostler, will know where we can buy a horse and gear for you."

"Will we have enough gold for all that?"

"Oh yeah, if what Morgana said was right, then we should have enough for that, a decent sword for you, and still be able to stay in inns the rest of the way home, too."

"Quite a bit of gold to entrust to a servant," Arthur mused.

"I know. About half of it came from Morgana, Gwen, and Gaius, though."

"You'd mentioned." Arthur wasn't quite sure how to interpret their gesture, but apparently Merlin had no such uncertainty.

"We all wanted you home safe, sire," he said quietly. "They care about you."

Arthur ignored the way that made his eyes sting and his chest feel tight. "They care about you, too, you know," he said instead. "They wanted you safe, too."

"I know. I'm going to give them back as much as I can, once we're home; Gaius and Gwen could hardly afford to give me as much as they did."

"Just shows how much they both cared about you."

"About both of us," said Merlin.

* * *

 

The smell of smoke grew stronger as they approached the port, and the number of ships increased as well, both moving into the harbor and sailing out. There were vessels of all sizes, from tiny coracles manned by only one or two people casting nets over the water, all the way up to merchant ships bigger than their own. Arthur had no idea how they all managed to get through the traffic without crashing into one another, and his respect for Phillipe and the other captains grew.

Merlin had seen all this before, he said, but he still followed Arthur to the bridge at the captain's invitation, and watched raptly as the crew brought the ship in, furling sails and signaling with brightly colored flags toward what looked like a little house on the end of the breakwater. Arthur couldn't find it in himself to make fun of Merlin, since he was just as fascinated. Ships lined up before and behind them, taking turns gliding past the breakwater and into the harbor; work songs echoed from one ship to the other, almost as if there were a competition going on to see whose crew could bellow the loudest. Half the songs were sung in Norman or other tongues, but Arthur rejoiced to hear several sung in the language of Albion. When he made out the words more clearly, though, he laughed at how bawdy and coarse they were.

His father would never have approved, would likely have glared Arthur into silence for daring to take humor from the antics of peasants. The thought sobered Arthur at first, but then he decided that his father need never know what he was doing out here. Besides, Uther still believed in things like class and station. Station was a lie; Arthur already planned to knight Lancelot, if he ever saw the man again, and would open the opportunity to other common-born men as well, if they had the skill.

He wondered what he might do for Merlin, if Merlin lived long enough to see Arthur made king.

The time flew by as the crewmen scrambled up and down in the ship's rigging and across the deck, just as they had when they'd departed Normandy, only now all the chores were in reverse: throwing lines to the men on the pier, dropping anchor, and hauling cargo out from the hold to the deck in preparation for offloading. It seemed mere moments before the deckhands and crew were shoving a gangplank into place, and setting up a crane next to the ship to begin moving goods.

Philippe said something to Merlin, who nodded, but Arthur could guess what he'd said. "It's time for us to go, too, isn't it?" he asked.

"Captain says we'll only be underfoot if we stay. We can collect our things ourselves and then pay the steward, but with all the heavy freight being moved, it'll actually get dangerous for us to be in the way for much longer."

"Right, then," said Arthur. He reached out a hand to the captain, and offered him a respectful nod. "Tell him I said thank you for seeing us safely to port."

Philippe clasped his arm gladly, and smacked Arthur's shoulder with his free hand. "He says we were good guests and are welcome anytime we have another journey to make."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Arthur, and with another nod, he stepped back, letting Merlin lead him down to their cabin to collect their things.

* * *

 

To Merlin's surprise, Arthur let him lead the way out of the harbor and to the inn. The voices of Albion surrounded them, men and women hawking fresh fish and other goods, just as they had in Le Havre, but now Merlin didn't have to translate everything he heard for Arthur's benefit. He glanced back at Arthur, and saw that he was more relaxed now, moving with an ease that Merlin hadn't realized was missing before.

"Glad to be back?" he asked, dropping back to Arthur's side so he wouldn't have to raise his voice above the din.

Arthur's shoulders rose and fell in a contented breath, and he tossed a smile Merlin's way. "I'll be happier still once we're in Camelot, but this is worlds better than Normandy."

"To be fair, sire, Normandy isn't that bad as long as you're not being held prisoner and treated like a slave."

"Don't remind me," said Arthur. "Anyway, I couldn't understand a bloody word they said, and when they spoke, they sounded like they had swallowed something unpleasant and were trying to cough it back up."

Merlin laughed. "They did not!"

"How would you know? You said with that—" he paused, and lowered his voice; "—that bit of _work_ you did, that everything sounded as if they were speaking your language."

"I could still sort of make out the shapes of the words if I concentrated," said Merlin. "They weren't gargling, or whatever you just said."

"Mm." They wove through the crowds in silence until they left the docks, dodging porters carrying bolts of wool and drovers moving anxious sheep. "How long did you say that would last, anyway?"

"It goes with the moon phases," said Merlin. "So, another couple of weeks."

"You'll have to be careful in Camelot," warned Arthur. "Wouldn't do to get caught speaking a language you're not supposed to know."

"I will be."

* * *

 

To Merlin's relief, the inn was right where he remembered it, which meant that he wouldn't have to endure Arthur's teasing for getting them lost. Even better, Gaheris remembered Merlin's face, greeting him and Arthur with a smile and bow.

"I don't have your old room, my lord, but another just opened up if you'd like it. It has three beds, but since you've stabled your horse with us, I can waive the rent of the third bed and only charge you for two."

"That will be acceptable," said Arthur, as Merlin raised an eyebrow.

Gaheris was also willing to put the servant, Edmund, at their disposal to guide him and Arthur around Portsmouth, so that Arthur could look over horses and swords and other things that made princes happy. It wasn't exactly the same as buying gifts and mementos from a jaunt to another land, since they needed the horse if they were to travel with any speed at all, but Arthur was enthusiastic enough about the entire affair that it may as well have been.

The only hiccup in their entire day was when Merlin pointed out that one of the swords Arthur was looking over carried a mild enchantment on it, and he dropped it as if it were hot from the forge.

"What does it do?" he demanded, and Merlin sighed. The prince was making an effort, truly, but it would take a while to get him over a lifetime of prejudice.

"It… it keeps an edge longer, my lord," stammered the seller. He glanced back and forth between them, and licked his lips. "You wouldn't have to sharpen it as often. Nothing more than that."

Arthur blinked, and said slowly, "I hadn't known such a thing was possible."

"Indeed, my lord," said the seller, warming up to his topic, "in fact there are many useful enchantments that can be worked into a blade, if one knows how. Nothing is a substitute for the wielder's skill, of course! But our craft is of the finest in Nemeth."

"I will be traveling to Camelot," said Arthur, and Merlin watched as the seller's face fell, and even grew a little pale. "Probably best if I take only a plain sword, with no spells on it."

When Arthur said nothing else, the seller's shoulders dropped in visible relief. "Of course, my lord. If I might interest you in this collection here, then?"

In the end, Arthur wasn't satisfied until he'd picked out a sword and two knives, one for his belt and one for his boot, and paid full price for both.

"You really could have bargained the price down a bit," said Merlin, when they were on their way back to the inn. Edmund had left them some time ago, claiming Gaheris would need him.

"You sound like a nagging wife, Merlin," said Arthur with a laugh. "Anyway, a sword isn't a bolt of fabric or a barrel of salted pork. I'm not sure the price really would have come down that much at all."

"Like _you_ know anything about haggling," muttered Merlin. "You've never had to count your coins in your life."

"Well, then, it's good that you're with me, isn't it?" Arthur countered, bumping shoulders as they walked. "You can help keep me from spending too much and leaving us sleeping in the woods on the way home."

"Pshht," said Merlin. "You'd have to _listen_ to me first. And you never do that."

"Hm, you're right, I don't," quipped Arthur. "Oh, well."

Merlin glared, but it didn't do a bit of good.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur buys a horse; later that evening, Merlin encounters a familiar face.

Merlin had thought that Arthur would be more impatient to get back to Camelot. He certainly claimed that he wanted to go home, whenever Merlin asked him… but then he'd spent hours yesterday looking over the various swords they had on offer in Portsmouth.

"It's important that I be properly outfitted, Merlin, we could encounter anyone on the road. I'm not trusting my life to shoddy workmanship."

"If you say so, sire," said Merlin.

"I do say so," replied Arthur, and that had been that.

The next morning, Arthur actually woke before Merlin, which was a first now that Merlin's concussion had healed. "Come on, Merlin, hurry up or I'll leave you here."

"No you won't," retorted Merlin. "What has you so chipper this early, anyway?"

"I have a sword. You have your horse, and our supplies. Once _I_ have a horse, we can be on our way."

Hm. Perhaps Arthur was eager to leave, after all.

There really wasn't anything more to say after that, so they ate their breakfast quickly and then asked Edmund to point them in the direction of the livestock markets.

* * *

 

For someone who was eager to leave, Arthur sure had a funny way of showing it. He and Merlin, with Edmund as their guide, spent the _entire_ morning at the horse markets; Arthur was as obnoxious as he'd ever been in his life, demanding to see each horse individually and looking them over with, Merlin had to admit, a practiced eye. He turned up his nose at several stables that, to be fair, were mainly selling plow- or carthorses, not trained to the saddle at all.

Finally he found a paddock that did claim to sell riding beasts, only he wasn't satisfied there, either.

"Mm, no," he said to the first horse the ostler brought out. "Knock-kneed."

"No," to the second, as well. "Pigeon-toed."

The third horse actually made Arthur scoff in derision, to the point that Merlin was ready to smack him. They'd been at this for hours already and still had nothing to show for it. "Pigeon-toed, _and_ ewe-necked, and look at that swayback!" He glared at the ostler. "For God's sake, bring me something I can ride for more than a mile before it founders. Something with a _pedigree_. If you even _have_ such a creature," he added with a mutter meant to be heard.

The ostler looked like he very much wished to make comments about Arthur's own pedigree, but he turned on his heel and went back into the stable with a red face and thin lips.

"I assure you, my lord," tried Edmund, "this is one of the best horse merchants in Portsmouth. If he doesn't have what you want, he will at least be able to direct you to the manors that breed such beasts."

"Anyone breeding beasts like these should be ashamed of themselves," Arthur began, but then the ostler led out the fourth horse. The stallion was tossing his head and dancing, ears half-laid back already, but he was a glossy black without the slightest hint of a marking anywhere on his coat; his mane and tail streamed in the light breeze from the harbor, and he moved with such grace that even Merlin could tell he was something special.

 Arthur was straightening up slowly with a gleam of pure want in his eye, and Merlin was getting the feeling that he was about to do something either incredibly stupid, incredibly dangerous, or both.

"Warhorse of the late Sir Accolon," said the ostler. "The widow can't afford the keep of him, so she sold him to me. I wish I'd never bought the monster; he's savaged three of my grooms already."

"So you're eager to be rid of him," said Arthur.

"Don't think you'll get him cheap, my lord," snapped the ostler. "He'll cost twice as much as anything else I've got, just to cover the bloody physician's fees." He turned to glare at the prince, and added, "And I'm not some shyster who'll make a quick coin selling a horse that'll get its rider killed, neither. You want him, you prove you can handle him, first."

Arthur's smile only got wider. "Fetch me a lunge line, then," he said, and ducked into the ring.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" asked Merlin.

"Saying hello to my horse," replied the prince, and Merlin felt his stomach drop.

Definitely both.

* * *

 

The ostler handed the lead off to Arthur, then backed out carefully and shut the gate behind him. The stallion tossed his head and half-reared, grunting his displeasure, but Arthur spoke softly to him and didn't let himself startle at any of the horse's movements. The first time he reached up toward the stallion's muzzle, he nearly got bitten, but the second time, the horse stood still, trembling a bit and whuffing at Arthur's hand, taking his scent.

"That's it," said Arthur. "Look at you." He stroked the horse's nose once, then twice, and felt it when he finally began to settle.

Accolon, whoever he'd been, must have been very close with his steed, and now that he was dead, the horse himself was lost and confused, wanting to know where his rider was and when he would be coming back. Then Accolon's widow had sold him away from his stable mates, if he'd had any, and away from familiar pastures.

"You're in a strange place surrounded by strange people, aren't you," said Arthur quietly. "I know the feeling, recently."

The horse shifted his weight and his ears, listening to Arthur as he spoke soothingly.

"I think we just might get along, you and I," he went on, stroking the stallion's neck and then along his back. He hadn't been curried in a while, no doubt because of his behavior toward the other stable hands; Arthur scratched his coat, lightly at first and then with more vigor, along the horse's spine and then back up under his mane. The horse nickered and relaxed further, his head drooping just a little, too proud and wary to really let go in front of strangers, but too appreciative of the touch to ignore it, either.

"What say we try your paces, hm? Would you like that?" asked Arthur. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ostler approaching with the lunge line coiled on one arm. Along the fence, a few of the other stable hands and grooms had gathered, murmuring among themselves but not doing anything that might startle the horse and endanger Arthur. Merlin and Edmund were a few paces farther along the fence, looking at him like he was insane.

"What's his name?" Arthur asked, as the ostler approached warily.

"Llamrei," came the answer.

"Llamrei," said Arthur, and the horse's ears twitched and swiveled. "A good name, Llamrei. Nice to meet you. Yes, good boy, Llamrei."

He clipped the lunge line to Llamrei's halter, and waited while the ostler got out of the way again, then started to walk him around the paddock. Considering they'd only just met, Llamrei took his instruction well, and even without that, he moved like silk. Arthur held him at arm's length and let the line out gradually, until he was turning in place in the center of the paddock while Llamrei walked around him, a few paces away. Arthur studied his gait intently, but could find no flaws, not at the walk nor the trot. With a click of his tongue, Llamrei moved to canter, and Arthur smiled in appreciation. It was impossible not to admire Llamrei's overall appearance as he flowed around the paddock. Even the stable hands were making noises of approval, and a larger crowd had gathered to watch him and Llamrei work.

"That's it, Llamrei," he said, nodding in satisfaction as he saw the stallion's ears swivel to catch his words. "Come in, now, that's it." He gave a light tug on the line, and Llamrei came, slowing back to a trot and then a walk before stopping in the center.

He was barely winded, just warmed up, and Arthur couldn't resist. With a grip in Llamrei's mane, and a quick hop and swing of his legs, he was astride the stallion: no bridle, no saddle, nothing to keep him from falling and being trampled but his own skill. This was his favorite way to ride, his favorite test of a horse's mettle, but Uther hadn't let him do it since he was fourteen.

Again, Llamrei tossed his head and half-reared, but Arthur was ready for him, and kept his seat with ease. The stallion sidestepped, and Arthur corrected him with seat and legs. Llamrei snorted, recognizing the cues, and settled almost immediately.

"You said he was a warhorse?" called Arthur to the ostler.

"Aye, my lord."

Arthur nodded, and began guiding Llamrei around the ring, using only his legs and the shift of his weight. From the response he got, it was clear that Llamrei had been extensively trained to understand such cues. With Arthur's guidance, he walked, trotted, and stopped still; cantered, rose to a full gallop, and then skidded to a halt. He sidestepped, first to the left and then to the right. Arthur brought him back to the center of the ring and gave a complicated set of commands; Llamrei reared to his full height and stayed there, balanced for one heartbeat, two, three, and then dropped back to all fours; finally, he wheeled, lowered his head, and lashed out viciously with his hind hooves at the empty air. In a battle, maneuvers like that could take out an enemy that Arthur couldn't reach, be it another horse or a foot soldier, but not many horses were smart enough and willing enough to learn such complicated cues.

"Good boy," he said, patting Llamrei's neck enthusiastically.

Applause startled Arthur, and he glanced up to see that the crowd around the paddock had grown substantially. Men, women, and children had come to watch him, and they were all clapping, a few even cheering. Even Merlin, who was shaking his head and looking at Arthur like he'd gone mad, was still joining in the applause.

Arthur slid down, still patting Llamrei, and led him up to the fence as the crowd began to disperse. The ostler, Edmund, and Merlin all stood side by side.

"How much?"

* * *

 

"That's it, I'm carrying the purse from now on," said Merlin.

"You were carrying it before," Arthur pointed out, far too calmly.

"Yeah, and I'm going to _keep_ it, because it's clear you can't be trusted not to spend all our coin!" The price of Arthur's new _warhorse,_ along with the bridle and fancy special warhorse _saddle_ that Arthur had insisted he would need, had nearly made Merlin choke. "Should make you ask me permission before you buy anything else."

Both Arthur and Edmund had insisted that the amount of gold Merlin had just parted with was actually a reasonable amount, considering the horse's level of training, but it was still more gold than Merlin had ever spent on one thing in his life.

Even buying Arthur back from the slavers hadn't cost this much. Merlin told him so, and Arthur smacked him on the back of the head.

"What else do we have to buy, Merlin? A couple of nights' worth of sleep in inns? A few meals? Honestly, the way you're carrying on is ridiculous. I've met tougher princesses… you and your delicate sensibilities."

"Well excuse me and my 'delicate sensibilities' for wanting to make sure we don't go _broke_ on the way back. Uther will probably want to know what I did with all his money, and what am I supposed to tell him, hm? 'Oh, sorry, your son decided he couldn't just have any old horse to ride home on, no, he had to have the craziest monster beast in the stable and nearly bankrupt us to get it,' what do you think he'll say to that? I'll be lucky to only spend a month in the stocks."

Arthur spared a glance for the monster beast in question, walking beside him docilely on his lead. City rules forbade riding horses through the streets, unless one was on official business for the crown of Nemeth. "Llamrei isn't crazy. He's just trying to get by in a strange place," he said quietly. "You'll forgive me if I can understand that a little better than I used to."

That shut Merlin up, and he sighed, shaking his head. "The head groom said that that horse attacked three of his people. I mean, sure, he seems to like you well enough _now_ , but how do you know he won't just change his mind?"

"Because I know how to handle him," shrugged Arthur. "We understand each other."

"If you say so. Hopefully he won't decide to attack me or Apple when we get underway."

Arthur clapped a hand on Merlin's shoulder and squeezed. "Now that's actually a reasonable concern, for once, but you don't need to worry. I won't let Llamrei do anything he's not supposed to."

"Let's just hope you're right."

* * *

 

That evening over dinner, Merlin felt a stirring of magic, faint, as someone opened the door to the common room. He looked up, startled, and grinned when he spotted the druid captain, Gruffydd.

"Arthur, look," he said, already waving the captain over.

"What are you doing? Who is this?" he asked with a frown, twisting in his seat.

"The captain I sailed with on the way to Le Havre," he said. He lowered his voice and leaned closer. "He's a druid."

Arthur blinked in surprise as Gruffydd approached their table, a friendly grin on his face. "Look who it is," he said, clasping Merlin's arm as if they were old friends. He nodded amiably to Arthur. "I see you found your friend."

"I did," said Merlin, "thanks to you."

"Ha! I think you did most of the work on that voyage, lad. Best wager I've ever lost. But what happened to your eye?"

Merlin's concussion was virtually gone, but he'd forgotten that the bruising was still visible. "Bit of a long story," he said, ducking his head.

"Fair enough. I see you're nearly finished with your meal; we've only just come into port and I've not had mine yet, so I'll not keep you from yours any longer. But I am glad you said hello. And you, sire," he said, with another nod to Arthur, "it's an honor. I look forward to the day you come into your… inheritance."

"Er." Merlin rarely saw Arthur caught on the wrong foot, but he recovered quickly enough. "I thank you, Captain…"

"Call me Gruffydd," came the reply. "Though I don't know if we'll ever meet again." He smiled again, this time a bit wryly. "I believe your destination is a bit farther inland than I've been in some time."

"Yes, I suppose it is," said Arthur. "Save travels to you."

"And to you, sire. Emrys." He nodded one more time to Merlin, who could feel his face heating under Arthur's scrutiny, then turned and flagged down a servant to bring him to a table.

"He knows who you are?" asked Arthur, his voice low. "He knows… that name?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, sire, but how do _you_ know that name?"

"It was in your book. Stop dodging."

"I wasn't! But um, yeah, the druids, they kind of… they all call me that. It's like they know me before I even say my name. I don't know how they do it."

"Probably some magic thing," Arthur pointed out, raising one eyebrow.

"Yeah, probably," said Merlin uncomfortably, turning back to his meal.

"I thought that didn't bother you."

Merlin tried to shrug, but his shoulders were already inching up toward his ears and didn't have much farther to go. "Le Havre was… very different. And Nemeth is, too. But it's not really good for me to get too into the habit of being open about… what I can do." He fiddled with his glass before glancing up at Arthur. "They keep it quiet here in Nemeth, too. It's not safe."

Slowly, Arthur nodded. "I see."

They were nearly finished with their meal anyway, so Merlin gulped the last of his ale and waved away the offer of a sweet, and they made it up to their room in silence.

"It's not that I don't want to talk about it with you," he said as they changed into night clothes. "I do. It's just… not always safe."

"Perhaps tomorrow, on the road," said Arthur.

"Yeah, maybe. Once we're out of town. Sure."


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin leave Nemeth and return to Camelot; Arthur makes his triumphal entry and is greeted by Uther, and Merlin receives a welcome of his own.

They set out the next morning, after Gaheris helped them map a route that would see them to the next town each day before dark. "They'll not be as fine to stay at as our inn, of course, but these do all have charters from the king, and they'll treat you well enough. Safe travels to you, my lords."

Arthur saved his amused snort until they were in the stable, handing their packs to the grooms to attach to their saddles. "I'm not sure I'll ever get used to people calling you a lord," he said.

Merlin finished feeding Apple her treat and shrugged easily. "Eh, me neither," he replied. "I'll be glad to be back in Camelot and be able to get my own meals without people looking at me funny. Or make my own bed, dress myself, all those other things you seem to be incapable of…"

"I'm capable!"

It was Merlin's turn to snort. "Of course, sire, that's why you have me do it all _for_ you."

"Station is… odd," said Arthur. Merlin turned at his thoughtful tone. "The trappings of position. Some of it is probably based in practicality, but a lot is… pretty meaningless."

"I've always thought so," said Merlin.

"Yes, well, you grew up without it, for the most part, right? Everyone in your village was more or less equal? I've been steeped in this… this _nonsense_ , all my life." He frowned, taking the reins from the stable hand and leading Llamrei into the courtyard. "That will change, once I am king."

Merlin followed him. "What brought this on?" he asked, as he climbed into the saddle. "These thoughts about station?"

Arthur did not look at Merlin. "Having mine stripped away."

* * *

 

Fortunately for Merlin's peace of mind, Llamrei seemed to like Apple, or maybe it was just being back in the quiet of the countryside that settled him. He had given the (much smaller) mare one thoughtful sniff, which she had sidestepped with a snort, and that had been that.

Whatever the reasons, they made good time across Nemeth, stopping at inns every night, just as they had planned. There was a bit of rain on their second day on the road, but no trouble from it; Merlin was pleased enough to put his servant's clothes back on, and keep his finery dry in the saddlebags.

Being away from the city seemed to help Arthur, too, the way hunting trips and just being outside the castle had always allowed him time to think and recenter himself.

"Now you look like you," he said. Merlin was rubbing at his ear where he'd just taken off the last of the jewelry.

"I feel like me," he replied.

"A bumbling idiot?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want to believe, sire."

"A powerful sorcerer."

Merlin tensed a little, not sure where Arthur was going with that line of thought. "I only feel like a powerful sorcerer sometimes," he said.

"When was the most recent time?" Arthur asked.

"Probably when I called up the wind to get to Le Havre faster," Merlin said, glancing at him sidelong. "Or maybe when I fought Laurens of Picardy? But that didn't make me feel _powerful,_ I guess. I don't really enjoy getting into battles with other sorcerers. It just felt… necessary."

Arthur nodded, keeping his eyes on his shaving mirror, but Merlin knew when the prince was only pretending to be casual. "And before that?"

He shrugged. "I guess, when I fought Sigan?"

It was Arthur's turn to look at him skeptically. "Tell me about that."

So Merlin did, recalling the way Sigan had possessed the thief Cedric's body, and then tried to take Merlin's instead. He described how the dragon had given him the spell he'd needed to pull Sigan's soul back out of him and into a gem once more. "I suppose the proper thing to do would be to send him across the veil and into the world of the dead, but I don't know how to do that," he said. "But he's trapped in the gem and can't get out anymore, so I guess that's something."

"He controlled the gargoyles on Camelot's ramparts, and used them to attack us," said Arthur.

"Gaius said Sigan actually built the castle," Merlin offered. "Maybe he built in some sort of defense system too, that he could activate with his magic."

Arthur shook his head. "How many other victories have I thought I've won, only because you were unable to take the credit?" he asked.

"It's not that you're not a strong warrior," Merlin replied slowly; "but there are some things that really can only be defeated with magic. That's not your fault."

"But it is Camelot's weakness. My father's vendetta against magic has diminished the kingdom."

Merlin bit his lip, unsure how to respond. "It's not really my place to say," he tried, but Arthur wasn't having it.

"Oh, don't defer to me now of all times, Merlin, you never have before."

Merlin sighed. "You don't want to hear anything against Uther. He's your father."

"But it's true, isn't it?" Arthur pressed. "He's weakened Camelot. Diminished us. Magic is everywhere,whether we like it or not, and his attempts to drive it out are doomed to fail. Meanwhile other kingdoms have magical defenses. Magical _offense_. Magical bloody tailors," he said, waving a hand at Merlin's saddlebags. "He's… he's trying to empty the ocean with a bucket. Or push away the sky."

"Kind of, yeah," said Merlin with a grimace.

Arthur sighed.

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault my father has an obsession that's doomed to failure. I just wish I knew why."

"Has he ever said anything?"

"Magic supposedly killed my mother," said Arthur after a moment. "That's all I've ever gotten out of him. But I don't see why he would have gone after _all of magic_ in retaliation. Maybe the sorcerer who killed her, that would at least make sense, but every magic user ever born? Druids? Children?" Arthur shook his head. "I've listened to everything he's ever taught me, and now I know that almost all of it is wrong. Which means I don't _know_ anymore what he really wants, or why he is the way he is. And I doubt he'll ever tell me."

* * *

 

On the third day, they crossed the border into Camelot; Merlin shuddered as they passed the boundary stones.

"What is it?"

"Oh. Nothing," he replied, but Arthur was clearly not convinced. "It's just… it feels different. The land, the sky. Camelot doesn't feel like Nemeth."

Arthur quirked one eyebrow, but, "Interesting," was all he said.

They'd spent the past days talking about Merlin's magic, and the past nights whispering about it in their beds before sleep claimed them. Arthur knew all of Merlin's secrets, now; knew about the dragon, about Nimueh, about Sophia, about Edwin; all the things Merlin had done for Arthur and to protect Camelot. Things he was proud of, and things that still shamed him to think about. The lives he'd taken, and the lives he'd saved.

He had Arthur's word that he wouldn't say anything to Uther, but it was still unsettling, to have all his deeds uncovered. A lifetime of secrecy couldn't just be thrown away overnight. It had been weird enough in Nemeth, confessing his abilities to total strangers, but to be known so deeply by his closest friend… a friend whose indiscretion could see him killed… well, unsettling was a pretty good word for it, Merlin decided.

"I have to come up with something to tell the king about how I found you," he said. "In case he asks."

"Do you have any ideas?" asked Arthur.

Merlin shrugged. "I told him before I left that people might be more willing to talk to me than to any of his knights, because I'd be less intimidating. I figure I could just let him assume that's what happened. But if he asks me directly, I don't know what I'll say. And I still don't know how I'll explain following your trail out of the woods."

"Easy enough," said Arthur; "you went to the nearest village and asked around."

"But you were never in any of the villages. What if he goes to check?"

"Maybe no one saw me, but someone saw a stranger. You had a hunch and you followed that trail from village to village."

"And Normandy?"

Arthur took a deep breath. "Maybe someone in Nemeth saw your man and me together, boarding a ship, and you asked around until you could learn where the ship was headed."

"It's an awful lot of luck, put like that," said Merlin.

"It _was_ an awful lot of luck."

"Yes, but I can't just tell the king that the old gods decided to help me out!"

Arthur paused. "You _could_ say you prayed for guidance. Father isn't a huge follower of the New Religion, but at least it wouldn't be the Old one that helped you. Maybe you went to a shrine or something, once you realized I was on a ship."

"All right, that could work. I hope."

Arthur shook his head fondly. "He's not going to look too deeply at you, Merlin," he said. "He'll be more focused on me, and on whether or not my kidnappers have been dealt with. Assuming he's more happy to have me back, than disappointed at my failure to protect myself."

"He loves you, Arthur. Whatever his other failings, I know that much about him."

Arthur didn't say anything for a long moment. "I suppose we'll see."

* * *

 

They made it back to the city by mid-morning of the next day. They had managed to avoid detection on the road, ignoring and being ignored by farmers and peasants on their way to Camelot's market, but once they neared the city gates, Arthur drew himself up with a deep breath.

"Well, here we go," he said quietly. "Our last moment of peace for a while, I suspect."

"Yeah, you're probably right. At least they have to let you go to sleep sometime."

"True." One corner of Arthur's mouth turned up. "I wonder if I'll even see you before it's time for you to get me ready for bed."

"I guess we'll find out," said Merlin. He reached over and up a little, to take Arthur's arm. "Are you ready?"

With another deep breath, Arthur nudged Llamrei's flanks and started forward. "As ready as I'll ever be."

* * *

 

The reaction was everything Merlin could have hoped for; he hung back, letting Arthur bask in his moment as the city gate guards looked up at him with wide eyes and open mouths, then began shouting up the street, spreading the news:

"The prince has returned. The prince is alive!"

As they meandered through the winding streets of the lower town, citizens took up the hue and cry and passed it on, and before long bells started to ring overhead, echoing fit to shiver the sky. Men and women lined the street to see Arthur and cheer; the flower seller tossed petals into the air, her face wet with tears even as she beamed in joy. Children were running alongside the horses as they rode; Merlin worried for them, given what he'd heard of Llamrei's temperament, but apparently the warhorse was accustomed to triumphal entries, or maybe Arthur had him under tight control, because he only shook his head once or twice and continued along unperturbed.

The clatter of armor up ahead stopped them for a moment, as more of Uther's soldiers came running to see what the commotion was about. When they saw Arthur, there was a long pause as they stared in visible shock, before Arthur nodded regally. Then they saluted and fell into position around him and Merlin, forming an escort and honor guard as the people cheered even more loudly.

In the upper town, it was even louder, as the crowd doubled in size. There were still people on the street, but now there were also even more leaning out of upper story windows, waving handkerchiefs and tossing more flowers. Merlin beamed, and wished he could see Arthur's face. What must it be like, to be so universally adored?

At last they made it to the citadel, where Uther was waiting on the palace steps as they crossed under the archway and into the courtyard. The servants and nobles had gathered as well, eager to see if the cries were true, but none of their expressions matched the desperate hope on Uther's face as he first caught sight of his son.

Arthur barely had time to dismount before Uther was there, flinging his arms around the prince and squeezing tightly. Merlin looked away, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment as he noticed the wetness on the king's eyelashes.

"My son," said Uther, his voice cracking. He pulled back, holding Arthur at arm's length, his eyes roaming all across the prince's face and body. "You are well? Unharmed?"

"I am, Father."

"They didn't hurt you?"

Arthur paused. "They tried, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. They were cowards, in the end."

"They made us think you were—" Uther cut himself off, unable to say it aloud, and shook himself hard. "But it doesn't matter. Now you are returned to me." He embraced Arthur again, just as forcefully as the first time. When they let go, Uther turned to address the crowd. "A feast! To celebrate my son's return!"

A cheer went up, and that seemed to be the cue to break the tableau. Servants rushed inside to begin preparations for the festivities, and stable hands came forward to take Arthur and Merlin's horses. The nobles came down the steps as well, each one eager to greet Arthur, and Merlin stepped back, giving him space and preparing to go back to invisibility once more. Honestly, it would be a relief to go back to his rooms, unpack his bags, and rest. He'd had enough adventure to last him a while, even with all the opportunities to use his magic. Hopefully he wouldn't need to call upon it again anytime soon.

Merlin pulled the bags from Apple's saddle, and unbuckled the ones Llamrei bore as well. He was just about to sling them over his shoulder when a hand took his shoulder in an iron grip.

"You," said Uther, and Merlin felt himself grow cold.

"My lord," he said, just barely managing to turn around and bow without falling over.

"You did what you claimed you would," said the king. "I sent out search parties after you left, to scour all of Albion. But y _ou_ brought my son back to me."

Merlin _really_ wasn't sure how to respond to that. "I did my  best, my lord."

"So I see. You must be rewarded."

At this, Merlin's eyes grew wide. "It's not necessary, my lord—I mean, don't feel obligated—that is—"

Uther smiled at him, actually smiled, and it was as terrifying as the day he'd first made Merlin the prince's manservant. "It is the prerogative of the king to honor those who have done well," he said. "Be certain to attend the feast this evening. I will have decided then what your reward shall be."

Merlin swallowed, but nodded. It wasn't as if he had any choice, after all. "Yes, my lord."

That seemed to satisfy Uther, for he turned his back and slung an arm across Arthur's shoulders, making the prince stagger a little and forcing him to match Uther's stride as they headed up the stairs and into the castle. Merlin watched them go, then blew out a shaky breath as he got his nerves under control. He blinked a few times, shook his head once to un-rattle his brain, and finally turned back to collect Arthur's saddle bags. 

"My boy," he heard behind him, as the horses were being led away.

"Gaius." Merlin was already grinning as he turned back around, freeing one arm to hug the old physician as best he could.

"Well _done_ , Merlin," said Gaius, as Gwen came bounding up to meet them. "Well done indeed. Welcome home."

Gwen squealed, and threw her arms around Merlin, making him stagger back a step. She kissed his cheek and pulled back, beaming. "We knew you could do it," she said breathlessly. "My lady said she didn't even have any nightmares while you were gone. She said she knew you would return safely!"

"Looks like she was right," said Merlin brightly. "Oh! I have gifts for you. And I need to return the money that you all loaned me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," said Morgana as she swept up to join their little group. "You more than deserve a reward for what you did. You should at least keep my portion."

"And mine, too," said Gwen. "Honestly, I can spare it." Her smile turned a little sad. "After all, I don't have anyone else to spend it on."

Merlin's face fell at the reminder. "Gwen, are you sure?"

"'Course I am," she replied. She leaned in and kissed him again, and he felt his face grow hot as Morgana beamed. "But I can't wait to hear all about your adventures!"

"Let me unpack first, and wash up," said Merlin, "and I'll tell you everything I can."

She nodded, and Morgana stepped forward. She had more dignity than to kiss a servant in public, but she did reach out and clasp his hand tightly. "Thank you, Merlin," she said softly.

"Thank _you_ ," he replied sincerely. "Your, uh, advice. It really helped."

Morgana smiled wider, and it seemed to him that her shoulders dropped in relief. "I'm glad."

* * *

 

Merlin followed Gaius through the corridors and up the stairs, trying to hurry back to his rooms without it seeming too obvious. He was carrying two _highly_ illegal books in with his and Arthur's other things, and he'd very much like to get them hidden away safely before he tripped and spilled them out where anyone could see them.

It was difficult to move too quickly, though, because the other servants in the hall kept stopping Merlin to welcome him back, or if they were too busy for that, then to pat him on the shoulder or ruffle his hair as they passed. Merlin wondered at the reception, to be honest; he got on well enough with the other servants, of course, but he was often too busy to make any close friends among them. He had to wonder if Gwen had been talking him up and making him out to be some kind of hero or something.

As soon as Gaius shut the door behind them, Merlin sighed in relief. "Finally," he said. "Let me just drop these on my bed. And then maybe I can sleep for a week."

Gaius chuckled fondly, and the sound warmed Merlin's heart. "Take your time, my boy," he said. "I'll send to the kitchens for a bite to eat for you. And then, you can tell me everything."


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a private talk with Uther, while Merlin tells his side of the story to Gaius and the others. Later, Merlin discusses Morgana's abilities, and deals with his nerves before the feast. Finally, he attends Arthur, and the two of them have one last conversation before the festivities begin.

"Astonishing," Uther said, still looking at Arthur with an expression of such happiness that Arthur genuinely didn't know how to interpret it. "Normandy, you say."

"I could hardly believe it myself," Arthur replied. "To be honest, since one of them was a Saxon, I really expected to be taken farther away."

"Yes, a reasonable guess," said Uther. "Even more astonishing that your servant managed to find you, even across the sea."

"He was very determined." Arthur glanced at his father over the rim of his cup, where they sat in the king's chambers. It was quiet, almost peaceful, to be speaking like this; almost, if it weren't for the tension of guarding his every word, trying to hide Merlin's secret. "He claimed that he wouldn't be welcome back in Camelot if he returned without me."

Uther hummed, looking thoughtful for once. "It was he who first gave me hope that you might still be alive. If he had returned without you, I do not think I could have borne to look upon him, every day, Gaius's apprentice or no." He looked away, to Arthur's great shock, and added softly, "It would have been too painful to be reminded of your loss."

Arthur took a breath, awkward as always in the face of such raw emotion. "Well, fortunately, you won't have to," he said. "I'm back, and I'm fine."

"You're certain."

"I am, Father." He had chosen not to mention the exhaustion he'd felt, the humiliation he'd endured, nor the lightheadedness from hunger and thirst. They were all over, anyway. "They didn't want to do permanent harm to their _merchandise_ ," he added, perhaps a touch too bitterly.

"You paid them back well for the insult, at least," said Uther.

"The first man is likely still in Albion somewhere, but yes, the authorities in Le Havre took the sorcerer away, and the Saxon is dead." Arthur smiled grimly. "I swore I would kill him slowly, and you know I always keep my word. My only regret is that his death was quicker than I would have liked."

"I understand the sentiment, my son, but remember, do not let your rage bring you to their level. Put them down like the rabid dogs they are, and think no more on them."

"I don't intend to, Father." But he knew that he would likely have more than a few dreams while he processed everything he'd been through in the past… was it only two weeks? "Did I hear you say earlier that Merlin was to be rewarded?"

"Do you object?"

"Not at all; his cleverness and persistence saved my life. He deserves something."

"I'm sure you would have been able to escape even this Norman sorcerer's clutches without his aid, eventually," said Uther, and Arthur took another sip of his wine in order to keep himself from disagreeing. There were some parts of the tale that the king need never know. "But I suppose such speculation is irrelevant. If he had to spend the gold entrusted to him, at least he did so wisely; you are correct that it was clever of him, purchasing you back rather than risking a fight."

"He's certainly still useless with a sword, whatever his other qualities," said Arthur. Inwardly he winced, knowing Merlin didn't deserve the insult; at the same time, however, he couldn't appear to Uther to be too vested in Merlin's wellbeing. Too attached to the person who had saved him. His father would see it as a weakness to show more than casual gratitude.

Uther chuckled, and Arthur felt a bit of the tension leave his shoulders. "Well, I trust that if this reward I have in mind goes to his head, you'll be able to bring him back in line. A loyal servant he may be, but he is still only a servant."

"No fear, Father. I'm sure he'll be back to his usual degree of ineptitude before we know it."

The king frowned. "He _is_ clever," he said slowly, his expression thoughtful. "And likely not as inept as he appears. It would be wise of you to watch him, going forward."

"I shall, Father… but do you really question his loyalty, after the number of times he's saved my life?"

"Mm. No, I suppose not." Uther waved a hand dismissively, and reached for his wine once more. "Now, tell me more about this horse you managed to find."

* * *

 

Merlin told his story twice. The first time, Morgana and Gwen were present, and he handed them their gifts after they made him show off his "noble" disguise, and got yet another kiss on the cheek from Gwen, who insisted that she thought he looked "very dashing." Gwen gasped at the comb, and even the Italian glass earrings seemed to get a good reaction from Morgana. She also gave him several significant looks, as he carefully avoided mentioning the things she'd seen in her visions, and Merlin wondered if she would question him later.

The second time he told his tale, it was after the ladies had gone, with only him and Gaius in the room. The story grew a significant amount of detail then, as Merlin's voice grew a little hoarse and his eyes drooped with fatigue.

"A sea druid," said Gaius, after he'd finished. "I never would have thought of such a thing, and yet it makes sense."

"I'm more interested in what you have to say about Morgana's visions," said Merlin carefully. "Everything she Saw was accurate, Gaius. She wrote it all down for me, and it was incredibly helpful."

Gaius lifted his eyebrow and leaned forward. "You've burned those papers, I trust?"

"Arthur made me do that before we left Nemeth, but that's really not the _point_ , Gaius."

The physician sat back with a sigh. "I have long feared that her nightmares were the Sight, fighting to come out," he said. "I had hoped that if she were not made aware of it, the power would fade on its own. As mine did, after I swore to Uther that I would stop using it."

"She deserved to know, though," said Merlin, shaking his head. "She thought she was going mad."

"And now she knows better," said Gaius. "The Lady Morgana has always been an intelligent girl. I might have guessed that she would figure it out eventually."

Merlin said nothing for a long moment, not wanting to risk the other man's wrath by revealing his part in Morgana's discovery. Gaius preached caution, always, and Merlin understood why, but there were times when a person had to stop hiding and _act_. Had to take a side. He was glad he'd taken Morgana's. "You wanted to keep her safe, in Uther's household," he said finally. "But she wouldn't ever have been safe, whether she knew about her powers or not. She won't be safe until Uther is dead and Arthur is king. But now she _knows_. Now she at least can be prepared to protect herself."

Gaius nodded thoughtfully. "A perspective I suppose I ought to have considered," he admitted. "I suppose decades of caution, and witnessing the worst of Uther's Purge, have forced me into a certain mindset, whether it's to anyone's benefit or not."

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Merlin opened it to find a page standing there, not more than eight years old, looking up at him with wide eyes. "His Highness said to give you these," he piped, holding out a bundle of red fabric and a folded piece of paper.

"Thank you, Eric," said Merlin.

Instead of turning to go, however, the boy continued to stare. He fidgeted, seeming to gather up his courage, and finally he burst out with, "Did you really rescue the prince?"

"Mm, something like that." Merlin couldn't help but smile, even as he half-dreaded what the castle's rumor mill would churn out in the coming days. "But Arthur did his part, too, don't you doubt it for a second."

Eric nodded his head vigorously. "Are they gonna make you a knight?"

At this, Merlin laughed. "Can you imagine? I'm rubbish with a sword. Just ask anybody." He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair. "Back to your duties, you."

"Yes, Master Merlin!" Eric actually ducked a hasty bow before turning and dashing off.

The note read simply, _No jewelry tonight, and nothing blue. Wear this over the linen shirt. And for God's sake, comb your hair and be on time for once. —A_

Shaking out the bundle, Merlin recognized a quilted leather doublet that Arthur claimed he'd outgrown. It was a little bit faded at the elbows, with a stitch or two missing at the shoulders, but still a finer coat than anything Merlin had ever owned before traveling to Nemeth. It wouldn't fit him as well as his blue things, neither vest nor doublet, but Merlin thought that that might be the point. "I suppose it wouldn't do to look _too_ fine tonight," he said, holding it up for Gaius to see. "I am supposed to be a peasant."

"Indeed you are," said Gaius. "And Arthur loaning you one of his nicer things to wear would be considered an honor in itself, by some."

"As long as Uther doesn't decide to 'honor' me by sending me away or something, I don't care what I wear." He hopped up the stairs to his room to toss the doublet on his bed, then came back down to sit at the table. He could feel his leg beginning to bounce as the nerves he'd ignored for the past few hours began to make themselves known. "Which reminds me: what do you think the king is going to do?"

"I have my guesses, Merlin, but they remain just that: only guesses."

"But you have to have _some_ idea! What if Eric's right, and he really does try to knight me? What if he makes me _his_ manservant instead of Arthur's? What if he just… hands me some gold and releases me from service? Because I _can't_ leave, and I can't exactly explain that to the king."

Merlin's nerves were not at all helped by the way Gaius simply chuckled and patted him on the arm. "I'm sure Uther won't do anything as drastic as that. It's obvious that you're loyal to Arthur. I can't imagine the king would be so foolish as to separate the two of you now."

"I just wish I had some idea of what's going to happen," said Merlin, dragging his hands across his face.

"I'll tell you what's going to happen," said Gaius. "You're going to wash up and take a short nap. When you wake up, you'll change into your nicer things, and then go to Arthur's chambers to help him prepare for the feast."

Merlin waited, but Gaius seemed to have said his piece. "That's it? That's all you've got?" When Gaius only chuckled again, Merlin leaped up from his seat, too agitated to hold still. "How am I supposed to _sleep_ like this?!"

"You could always rest quietly and listen to the wind outside your window," suggested Gaius. "You told me that that had quite the calming effect on you when you were traveling to Normandy."

"…I suppose that's true enough," allowed Merlin. "I certainly can't think of anything else to try."

"Go on, then," said his mentor. "I'll be certain to wake you in time for the feast."

Merlin blew out a breath. "Thanks, Gaius."

"Anytime, my boy. And I know I've said it already, but: welcome home."

* * *

 

Even sleeping in comfortable inns, the days of travel had worn Merlin out enough that he did manage to rest, although he suspected it was only in a trance state, rather than true sleep. Magic whispered to him, on the wind, in the leaves, and even sleepily in the stones of the castle itself. The dragon was a beacon of magical energy, far below the surface, but Merlin avoided touching that energy rather than risk getting dragged into conversation with the snide old lizard.

When Gaius came to wake him, he felt calmer; so much so, in fact, that he had the impression even Uther's wrath wouldn't faze him. He wasn't sure how long he could hold onto this tate, but it was a far better way to approach the feast than he'd been anticipating. He dressed quickly, sticking to his servant's trousers and slumped boots, and fumbled with the many buttons on Arthur's borrowed doublet.

"Am I ready?" he asked, stepping down into Gaius's main chamber. The old physician squinted at him appraisingly.

"There's nothing to be done for that hair of yours, I suspect," he said, "but the rest of you is quite handsome indeed. You can rest assured that you won't embarrass yourself looking like this."

"As long as I don't spill gravy all down my front," Merlin replied with a smile.

"Off you go, then," said Gaius. "I'll see you at the feast."

* * *

 

Arthur seemed surprised to see him, once he made it to the prince's chambers. He was fussing with the laces on his tunic in front of his mirror, so Merlin came over and batted his hands away, to untangle them himself.

"You're earlier than I thought you'd be, for a change," said Arthur.

"You told me not to be late."

One corner of Arthur's mouth quirked up, just visible since his chin was tilted up to let Merlin work. "Nervous?"

"A little, yeah." Even though he still was feeling much better than he had before his nap. "Aren't _you_?"

"Honestly, not really. Father holds feasts in my honor every few months, it seems."

"Mm." Merlin busied himself with his work, poking his tongue out as he undid a knot. "Has he said anything about what he's going to do to reward me?"

"He has, actually, but I think I want to keep it a surprise."

Merlin's hands stilled, and he looked Arthur in the eye. "Is it anything bad?"

Of course Arthur had to look at Merlin like he was the crazy one. "No, of course not."

"You know what I mean. The first time I saved your life he made me manservant to a prat."

"And look how that turned out," Arthur said with a smile.

Merlin couldn't help but smile in return, but he still had his worries, beginning to return the more he thought about it. Being near Uther, he supposed, just had that effect on people. "Yes, but what if he tries to send me away or something? Or one of the pages thought he was going to _knight_ me…"

"Do you always get your information from seven-year-olds? It would explain a lot."

"Arthur."

Being the prat that he was, Arthur only laughed. "Relax, Merlin. Father told me what it was, and I think you'll like it, honestly. I can't tell you what he's going to do, because it's one of those things that has to come from the king, but he isn't going to make you leave. And he already knows you're rubbish with a sword."

Merlin raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment and turned away, picking up Arthur's leather coat and necklace. "As long as this isn't a trap and he's actually going to have me thrown in the dungeons on suspicion of sorcery."

"He's _not_."

"You didn't say anything incriminating, did you?"

" _Merlin_." Arthur glared as he slipped his arms into the coat sleeves. "Do you trust me, or not?"

"'Course I trust you! But I mean, anyone could accidentally say the wrong thing."

"I didn't." The prince grabbed Merlin's shoulders and gave them a little squeeze. "It's just as I told you. He's more interested in the fact that I'm still alive than in how you managed to find me. He didn't ask many questions at all when I told him our story, and I left out all the magic bits. Well, except that the guy in charge was a Norman sorcerer, because that sort of thing makes him happy to hear. Honestly, he was more interested in hearing about Llamrei." He grimaced. "Father is happy that you brought me back, but he does still see you as only a servant. As far as he's concerned, you've more or less only done your duty. He knows that you found me and bought me back, but he also knows I killed one of the slavers, and he's pretty well convinced that that's how I _really_ got away."

Merlin bit his lip, chewing on it nervously. "If you say so."

"I do say so," said Arthur, ducking his head so Merlin could drape the heavy necklace and place it properly around his coat collar. "Now, come on. I don't want to be late, and my wine isn't going to pour itself." He reached up and ruffled Merlin's hair, and grinned at the glare he got in return.

"I just combed that."

"Literally no one would have been able to tell, Merlin."

"All right, just a second." He shut his eyes and reached out, feeling the magic of the world, connecting him to every living thing. He took a deep breath and let it out on a cleansing sigh, then opened his eyes. Arthur stood watching him bemusedly; Merlin could feel his presence like a glow in the darkness, overlaying what his eyes could see. "Okay."

"Ready?"

"I think so, yeah."


	31. Chapter 31 and Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur attend the prince's homecoming feast , and Merlin receives his reward from the king. Later that night, Arthur explains to him all that the reward means. In the epilogue, time passes, and several events occur, culminating in Arthur becoming king, with Merlin as one of his advisers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about splitting this into a short-ish chapter, followed by a long-ish epilogue, but opted to keep them together here instead. Huzzah, you get all the words at once!

The feast was busy enough for Merlin to mostly forget about his nerves; he'd been excused from the preparations, since Gaius and Arthur had both needed him, but now he bustled to and fro with all the other servants, laying out trenchers and goblets on the tables, setting knives and spoons beside them, and lining up the pitchers of water and wine along the sideboard, just in time for the great doors to open and the nobility to begin streaming in. Hurriedly, Merlin took himself out of the way, lining up along the wall with the other servants. A few of them looked him up and down, noting Arthur's fancy jacket, and some grinned and nodded at him, but none of them spoke to him directly. It was time to look sharp and go to work.

The nobles and knights took their customary seats, gossiping excitedly and keeping their eyes on the door. It was no surprise by now that the prince had returned, but of course everyone wanted to lay eyes on him personally, as soon as he came in. Merlin couldn't really blame them, given how he'd felt himself, when _he_ had finally found Arthur.

The royal family were the last to enter, and a great cheer went up as Arthur came into view; Morgana was on his arm, as she always was in these miniature processions, and even she was smiling genuinely rather than giving her usual aloof glances to various lords and ladies of the court.

As the ovation began, Arthur paused, and for a moment Merlin thought the prince was actually surprised by everyone's reaction. Did he really not understand just how much Camelot loved him? He'd been such a prat when they'd first met, Merlin would have expected that he'd simply take such accolades as his due. Arthur had been acting differently ever since Merlin had rescued him, though, and had hinted at some deep thoughts churning underneath his facade. Maybe the experience had changed him in ways he wasn't yet prepared to talk about.

Uther brought up the rear, beaming in a manner that was always slightly terrifying to Merlin's eyes. It was a rare expression on his usually severe features, and he looked so happy, it was almost possible to forget what a threat he was to Merlin and everyone like him. But there wasn't even a hint of cruelty in his expression as he gazed on Arthur and Morgana, his eyes soft in a way that Merlin wouldn't have thought the king capable of.

The three of them came forward and finally reached their seats. Arthur held Morgana's chair for her as she sat down, then moved to his own space; as he and Uther took their places, the king signaled to the chief steward. The hall doors closed, the kitchen doors opened, and the servants began a procession of their own, bearing platters stacked high with rolls, tureens full of soup, and covered dishes that smelled heavenly as they were marched past Merlin's position. It was fortunate Merlin had already had a bite to eat, or he'd have embarrassed himself with a growling stomach in front of everyone. Arthur would never have let him hear the end of it.

Merlin, Guinevere, and the king's manservant stepped forward and filled their charges' goblets, while servants at the other tables took care of the rest of the nobles, and the feast was underway.

Tray after tray came out, course after course; after the rolls and soup, there were the rabbits, after the rabbits came the roast quail, and after the quail were the baked eel pies. The cooks hadn't had much time to prepare subtleties, but between courses, tarts and roasted vegetables made the rounds, and honey cakes, and for the high table there were even sweets in powdered sugar. It was not the fanciest feast Merlin had ever been to, but given how short the notice had been, he really thought the kitchen staff had outdone themselves.

Merlin kept his eyes open, but no one seemed inclined to poison anyone else tonight, no sorcerers burst in and threatened murder and mayhem, and even the weather outside was balmy and beautiful. Arthur teased him under his breath whenever he could, and Merlin filched scraps from his plate whenever he thought Uther wasn't looking, and all in all it was a pretty pleasant event.

Finally the food had all been served, most of it eaten, and an appalling amount wasted by the nobility as usual (in Merlin's opinion). The wine was flowing freely, and the usual chatter was about to turn raucous, when Uther finally stood. The silence that fell was not absolute, punctuated as it was by giggles and whispers, but for a feast it was pretty good.

"My people," the king said. Arthur gave Merlin a significant glance over his shoulder, and Merlin felt his nerves return in full force. This was it. He set down his pitcher of wine, and tried to control the trembling of his fingers.

"I will not bore you with an over-long speech," proclaimed Uther, and a few drunkards cheered while others chuckled at their antics. Even Uther seemed willing to indulge the silliness, as one corner of his mouth turned up before he continued. "You all know why we have gathered. My son, your prince, was missing, thought by many to have perished, and now he is returned." He looked down at Arthur with that same soft smile, and the crowd cheered again. The prince, for his part, smiled a bit stiffly, and nodded once in acknowledgment, but said nothing. "Search parties were sent out across Albion, as you know; some of whom have yet to return. But it was one man who held out hope that his prince was alive before all the rest. One man who convinced his king to send search parties in the first place. And it was that same man who returned today, successful in his quest. Such faith and loyalty must be rewarded, and so shall it be, tonight. Merlin of Essetir, come forward."

With a deep breath, Merlin moved away from his spot next to the other servants, and stepped out in front of the high table. There were murmurs around the hall as he bowed; Merlin could _feel_ everyone's eyes on him, making his skin crawl. He glanced up only long enough to catch Arthur's eye, then the king's, and finally Morgana's and Gwen's. It helped, a little, that both the ladies offered him encouraging smiles.

"The first day we met, you saved my son's life, in this very hall," said Uther. "And we rewarded you then by bringing you into the royal household, and making you Arthur's manservant. Since then you have served him faithfully and with commendable loyalty. Though you were not born to service, yet you were born a serf, and today, in recognition of your service to your master—my son—that will change.

"We hereby name you, Merlin of Essetir, a free-man of Camelot, with all the rights and privileges that this new station entails. They are enumerated here, in this scroll, which shall be proof of your rank from this day forward. Your elevation is also to be recorded in the annals of the archivist, and your children, should you have any, will also be free-men and -women of Camelot."

Merlin straightened uncertainly as the applause began, and risked a glance at the king. Uther held a roll of parchment, which he offered to Merlin, and Merlin, unsure what else to do, took it in a shaking hand.

"Thank you, my lord," he said, barely audible over the sounds of the gathered audience. Still, it seemed to satisfy Uther—Merlin didn't want to think what would happen if the man had expected a speech—for he nodded once, and gestured at him in clear dismissal.

"You may return to your post, now," he said quietly. "And again, you have my thanks."

Merlin swallowed, and bowed once more. "My lord."

* * *

 

"Have you had a chance to read the scroll yet?" Arthur asked him, hours later. It was well after midnight, and crickets could be heard chirping in the courtyard, even through the closed window in Arthur's chambers. The space was peaceful and cool, after the crowded, stuffy air of the feast hall, and Merlin could feel his shoulders dropping as the door shut behind them.

"I've been attending _you_ all this time, sire, so no." Merlin yawned hugely, pulling the scroll out from inside his jacket and setting it on the table. "Can I read it in the morning?" he asked, pulling the jacket off and hanging it up in Arthur's wardrobe.

"I suppose you may as well, once you've finally woken up."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I imagine you'll want me to get you up at sunrise to go train with the knights, or something."

"God, no," Arthur replied. He stretched, then began working the buttons of his own vest. "In fact, as part of your reward, I'm giving you the morning off."

"You just want to sleep in till noon yourself," said Merlin with a smirk.

"Mm. It's almost as if you're observant or something."

"Or something." He lit a candle from the fireplace embers before banking them, and brought it over to set by Arthur's bed.

"You really don't have any idea what being a free-man means, do you," mused the prince.

"As long as I don't get lands and estates, I don't really care," said Merlin, and Arthur laughed.

"No, those are for lords. I remember you saying you wouldn't want to be a lord."

"Well, I wouldn't!"

Arthur was still grinning as he stripped off his shirt, making his hair stand every which way. "And you're not, I promise. But you're not subject to some of the laws that bind peasants to the land anymore. You don't have to ask permission to travel, for example." He paused. "Technically, you could leave my service if it pleased you, and go anywhere you wanted in the kingdom."

Merlin had been working his way around the room, making sure the windows were latched and the curtains all drawn. He stopped in his tracks and turned to Arthur. "You know you're not going to get rid of me that easily," he said. "If this is some sort of ploy—"

"It's not." Arthur sighed, and sat on the bed, looking tired all of a sudden. "I just… I don't know how to keep you safe here," he said softly. "And it could be a long time before I'm king. Years, certainly. Maybe decades. The risk to your safety is so high."

"It's always been a risk for me to stay, Arthur," said Merlin. "I don't care. You need me."

"Camelot needs you."

"That, too," Merlin allowed. "But you need me more."

There was a long pause, the crickets outside seeming loud in the stillness of the night. "You'll get a yearly stipend," Arthur said finally, as if the previous moment hadn't occurred, "in addition to the salary you earn as my servant. I think you're also entitled to a horse, as well; you'll have to check and see if my father included that in the scroll. There might be a house, too, if you want it, in the lower town, most likely."

"I'll probably stay with Gaius," said Merlin.

"I thought you might. Most importantly, though, being a free-man gives you the right to join my father's council… and mine."

Merlin blinked.

"Your word still won't carry as much weight as a noble's, of course, but in matters that require a vote, you get one. You and Gaius both are free-men now. You could speak together, vote together, on matters of… public health, or something. If you prove to be not a complete idiot in council, you may find some of the actual lords coming to you for advice—"

Merlin snorted. "Advice? Me?"

"Asking you what you think my opinion might be, probably," said Arthur. "Or they might try to influence how you'll vote, so that it works out in their favor."

Merlin wrinkled his nose, and came over to help Arthur remove his boots. "I'm not sure I'll be any good at politics."

"Maybe not, but you've always been pretty good at advising me," said Arthur quietly. "Even when I didn't want to hear it. That's… more valuable to a king than you realize. Having someone who's not a… a…"

"Bootlicker?" asked Merlin.

"Yes. That." Arthur sighed, and stretched his stockinged feet once the boots were set aside. "And if the nobles get used to seeing you in council, get used to seeing you advise me, then it'll be that much easier to make you an adviser in full, when I do become king."

Merlin stepped back from Arthur's bed, staring at him. "You'd do that?"

"Well, yes." As Merlin continued to stare, he rolled his eyes and went on, "Look, you have magic. I may not _like_ it, but the fact of the matter is, there's no escaping it. And Morgana has visions. I'm not going to see either of you live your lives in fear, or be treated as criminals just for existing as you are. And Camelot will need someone who actually knows what they're talking about, where magic is concerned, in order to restore what my father has managed to destroy. What he's tried to erase."

Merlin took a deep, shaky breath. Arthur had just practically admitted that he would repeal the ban on magic when he was king. "And you want that to be me?" he asked.

Arthur gave him a look as though Merlin were being especially dense. "Do you know any other sorcerers in Camelot that have saved my life rather than trying to kill me?"

"Well, no, I suppose not. I mean… the druids are peaceful, and they probably know more than I do…"

"But I don't know _them_ ," said Arthur. "I do know you. And I know you're trustworthy. Loyal, as my father said."

"I am," said Merlin quietly. "To you, for you… I'd do anything to keep you safe."

Arthur nodded, glancing away. His cheeks seemed flushed in the candlelight, though that could have been the wine. "How much of that is the prophecy, and now much is just me?" he asked.

After a moment's thought, Merlin stepped forward. Greatly daring, he rested his hands on Arthur's shoulders. "It's pretty much all for you, sire," he said. "The prophecy… all I'm supposed to do is keep you safe and let you do the rest. I don't imagine becoming friends was ever a requirement."

Arthur smiled. "Thank you, Merlin." He shoved at Merlin's hands, but not with any real effort behind it. "Now get off me and go to sleep. It's nearly morning already."

* * *

 

Merlin had been accustomed to attending Uther's councils from time to time, simply as Arthur's servant, whether he'd officially been welcome or not; now, despite his nerves, he sometimes took a seat at the table, sitting next to Gaius and doing his best to look harmless. The look on his face amused Arthur for the first few months, but then it turned out that his servant had a good memory for facts and figures, and over time the other nobles began to trust Merlin's recall. Eventually, it was not unusual for a lord to turn to him when they needed to remember how many measures of grain were stored in a particular granary, or where bandits had last been spotted.

If Arthur was secretly proud of him, he made sure never to say so, teasing him relentlessly at every opportunity instead.

Sometimes, as he'd predicted, the nobles did try to influence Merlin, to win his favor so that he might pass on their opinions to Arthur, but on those occasions he tended to play dense, and refused to go along with their games. Merlin told him once, late at night, that he worried about whether that would come back to haunt him, but if anything, his integrity seemed to win their respect.

It certainly won Arthur's.

* * *

 

Merlin continued to save Arthur's neck on a semi-regular basis, only now he didn't have to try so hard to hide what he could do. Arthur didn't really like it much, preferring to think of himself as the hero, saving the day with his skill and wit… but eventually, like it or not, he had to admit to himself that Merlin's skill was just as great, and his wit possibly even greater.

It took time, but he gradually did get used to the magic. What started out as resigned acceptance slowly became genuine curiosity, and he and Merlin would go on "hunting trips" where Merlin would show him just a sampling of what he could do. They talked about the prophecy, and what it might mean, and how Arthur might integrate magic use back into the fabric of Camelot's society. Whenever they had those conversations, Merlin beamed like a gormless fool, and sometimes spent _days_ afterward smiling and humming to himself.

Arthur asked about it, once, and Merlin looked at him like _Arthur_ was the idiot. "I look forward to not having to worry about getting my head chopped off," he said plainly. "And it'll be nice not to endanger Gwen, and Gaius, and anyone else I ever talk to, just for associating with me. The fact that you're really going to do something about that someday, well, it gives me hope."

* * *

 

A year or so later, they had a bit of an adventure together: Morgana revealed herself as a sorceress in front of the entire court, apparently gambling that Uther would not have her killed because of the scandal it would cause. Naturally, she didn't think to consult either Arthur or Merlin before she decided to shock them all. Arthur would have rolled his eyes at how very _Morgana_ it was of her, if he weren't currently in fear for her life.

The king didn't call the guards, at least, but unfortunately he did threaten to imprison Morgana if she did not cease her foolishness.

"I would rather die," Morgana spat, "than live my life as a lie or a dirty little secret."

"Well, I suppose if you think you're too good to live in this castle, I could always banish you," replied Uther with a cold smile. Merlin and Arthur both winced, sharing a glance as they did. They knew that the king thought Morgana was bluffing, and they _knew_ that Morgana was too much like the king in temperament to back down from such a challenge. How Uther didn't see that was beyond Arthur, honestly.

"You will not banish me," she began, and his smile widened. Then she went on, "I will banish _myself_ , and you will never see me again on this side of the Veil."

Oh, Uther changed his tune, then. "Out," he ordered the court. "Out! Except you, Arthur." Merlin scurried away after Gaius, but Arthur would bet his sword that the other man was listening in anyway, either behind the servant's door or with his magic somehow.

Once they were alone, Uther tried to convince her to stay, with sweet words and soft looks that nearly turned Arthur's stomach.

Morgana, however, was having none of it.

Next Uther tried asking her what she wanted, and she told him she wanted to live her life without being terrified that every day would be her last. He tried telling her that sorcery corrupted the soul and that she should set it aside, and Morgana screamed that she had never chosen her power and that Uther was a liar.

After that, he tried to drag Arthur into the fray. "Make her see sense," he ordered, and Arthur's eyes widened. He'd never won an argument against Morgana once she'd made up her mind. She was like a horse that had gotten the bit between its teeth, and she would run wherever she damned well pleased.

"Don't you dare bring Arthur into this, you coward," she spat. She conjured a flame into her hand and shoved it under the king's nose, forcing him to look at it. "Why do you really want me to stay? Why would you keep me here, and keep me _alive_? Why would I want to be the exception to your rule, while you slaughter more innocents, but spare me? Is it that you think my magic might be of _use_ to you? Or is it that you wish to keep me in a gilded cage and pretend I am not your prisoner?"

"It is because I am your father and your king, and you will do as I say!" Uther shouted, and the room fell silent, his words seeming to echo in the rafters. Even the king looked shocked at his outburst, going pale and staggering back to collapse onto the throne. Arthur had never in his life wished to be somewhere else more than he wished it in that moment.

Morgana, to her credit, recovered first. "Your daughter. And you never bothered to acknowledge me until now?" She barked a laugh, a harsh, cruel-sounding thing, and stepped back from him. "What does that make me? Your bastard?"

"No, Morgana, I love you—"

"If you _ever_ loved me, you would lift the ban on magic. But we both know better than to expect that from you, don't we. _Father._ "

She stormed out of the room, and Uther and Arthur were both too shocked to go after her.

* * *

 

She left that night, under cover of darkness; Uther's lockdown of the castle couldn't stop her, nor could the guard he'd ordered placed on Morgana's rooms.

Uther would never learn that Merlin and Arthur had helped to see her safely away.

Merlin spelled the guards to look the other way, and he and Arthur went to her in secret. Morgana, unsurprisingly, was already packing her bags. Merlin hung back by the door, sharing a glance with a worried-looking Gwen.

"I suppose you're going to try to get me to see reason," she said bitterly. "Or deny that I am your sister."

"You think he spoke the truth?" asked the prince.

"I'm sure of it. Did you not see how stunned he was that he'd let the secret slip?" Morgana scoffed, and dumped her entire jewelry box into a purse, yanking the drawstring shut. "I am so heartily _sick_ of secrets."

"I understand," Arthur replied. "But listen: are you sure you want to do this?"

"I will not stay here another _minute_ , Arthur Pendragon. Nothing you can say will convince me—"

"And if I say I'm here to help you?"

Morgana froze.

"Your visions helped Merlin to find me, last year when I was taken. And… while I was in Normandy, I saw that Father's ideas about sorcery were wrong. Magic users aren't any more corrupt than anyone else. They _don't_ tear apart a civilized society; they're an integral part of it, if they're treated with respect."

Finally, Morgana paused in ransacking her room. "You've never said anything about this before."

"How could I? You know what Father would have said."

"Hm. Yes. I certainly do now, don't I?"

"And besides," said Arthur, greatly daring, "you're not the only magic user I know of, hiding in Camelot."

"What? You? And you haven't turned them in?"

"Why would I, they're harmless," said Arthur. He could almost feel Merlin's nervousness behind him.

"Who is it?" asked Morgana.

"I won't tell you that, for their safety. But Morgana, if you truly can't stay here for now, then Merlin and I will help you leave."

 She glanced up at Merlin then, her eyes shrewd. "Really. Both of you? What do you think of all this, Merlin?"

He shrugged, meeting her eyes honestly. "I saw the same things Arthur did," he said. "Sorcery was everywhere in Normandy. _Magic_ is everywhere. It's foolish to pretend you can wipe it out. It's like trying to empty the ocean with a bucket," he said, recalling Arthur's own words from over a year ago. "Or trying to push back the sky."

"So you're not afraid of me?" she pressed. "You're not afraid of what I can do?"

Merlin smiled. "No," he said. "I'm really not." Having seen just a little of what Merlin himself could do, Arthur could well imagine just how much he meant that.

"Nor I, my lady," said Gwen softly. Her words seemed to settle Morgana as nothing else could; she took a deep breath, and some of the tension left her posture.

"Thank you, Gwen."

"When I am king," Arthur began, then trailed off.

Morgana sighed, and stepped closer to cup his face in one hand. "When you are king, things will be different," she said. "I haven't Seen it, but I _know_ it. You're a better man than Uther could even imagine."

"Will you return then?" he asked. "When I'm king?"

"If I'm still alive. If you'll still have me."

"You will always be welcome. You're my sister."

Morgana smiled. "Then yes, I'll return. Brother."

* * *

 

As it happened, Merlin and Arthur had had reports in council of a recent sighting of a druid encampment. Together, they snuck Morgana out of the castle under cover of darkness; Arthur provided some distractions, and Merlin's magic did the rest. Merlin even guided her safely to the encampment himself, the next morning, under the pretense of helping to search for her.

"Thank you," said Morgana. "Give Gwen my love."

"I will. Be safe."

"I will." She kissed him on the cheek, and turned her back, and that was the last anyone saw of her for quite some time.

* * *

 

Morgana's defection and apparent betrayal affected Uther greatly. He spent a year in frantic searching, losing all interest in ruling the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom, obsessed only with getting his daughter back. Other kingdoms threatened war, the nobles grew restless and uneasy, and even the peasants were fearful. When she could not be found, Uther fell into a despondency so deep that it seemed to carry his mind away from the rest of the world. Gaius treated him, but there was no sign of improvement, as Uther stopped speaking, and barely ate.

Finally, feeling he had no choice, Arthur stepped in as regent. In his council, instead of hiding behind Gaius, Merlin sat at Arthur's right hand, and Arthur tasked him with "researching magical affairs".

"Gaius has always provided us with wisdom in this matter, but we will not have Gaius with us forever," he told the council, nodding respectfully toward the physician. "Merlin, as Gaius's apprentice, has already learned much about magical creatures, spells, druidic customs, and more. Perhaps his knowledge will succeed in finding Morgana, where my father's soldiers failed."

This seemed reasonable to the council, and none of them wanted to be so close to the dangers of sorcery themselves, so they did not object. They did not need to know that Merlin scried Morgana once a week, making sure she was still safe.

Together, Merlin and Arthur chivvied the nobles into doing Arthur's bidding, soothed the fears of the peasantry, and sent a forceful response to any border incursions, until the rest of Albion realized that Camelot was still strong, even without Uther's guiding hand.

And if, along with all that, Merlin's education and powers grew, and his contacts in other kingdoms expanded, well, the council did not need to know that, either.

* * *

 

The king died in his sleep, three years after Morgana's disappearance.

* * *

 

Citing his relationship with Morgana, Arthur lifted the ban on magic within a month of his coronation. The nobles could not object, nor accuse him of being enchanted or any other such nonsense, because Morgana had not been seen in so long.

They reacted a bit more strongly to Merlin being named the court's official sorcerer, in addition to Adviser on Magical Affairs, but they had gotten so accustomed to his presence in the intervening years, so well-acquainted with his loyalty and integrity and even wisdom ("You'll never hear me say it again, Merlin." "I don't need you to, sire."), that the integration of magic into Camelot's society once more was virtually painless.

* * *

 

"Do you remember all those years ago, when I was kidnapped?" Arthur asked one evening. They were sitting in Merlin's chambers, sharing wine and staring into the fire, as they often did when Arthur didn't want to be found by anyone else. Merlin was absently playing with the flames, shaping them into horses and dragons, and sprites and birds, letting them fly away up the chimney where they dissolved into sparks.

"Which time?" Merlin asked, and Arthur snorted.

"Very funny," he replied. "The time with the slavers. Normandy."

"Oh. Yeah, 'course I do," said Merlin. "You know, I even spoke with Captain Gruffydd a few months back."

"Did you." Arthur took a sip from his goblet, savoring the flavor.

"Mm." Merlin let the flames go, and glanced at his king. "Why do you mention it?"

Arthur tipped his head pensively, and said, "It was a terrible thing to endure at the time, but looking back, I'm almost glad it happened."

Merlin frowned at him. "How so?"

"Seeing through the trappings of station," Arthur explained. "Learning that most of what my father had taught me was a lie. Seeing magic… seeing _your_ magic. I'm glad it happened." He leaned back in his chair, giving a satisfied sigh as he stretched. "Would you ever have told me about your powers, if you hadn't been forced to by circumstances?"

Merlin paused thoughtfully, staring at the hearth. The flames seemed to give his eyes a familiar golden cast, even though no new shapes formed. "I don't know," he said finally. "I know I would have wanted to. I wanted to every day. But I don't know if the time would ever have been right."

"You would have kept it a secret from me."

Now it was Merlin's turn to sigh. "I think I would have, yeah."

"Morgana and I don't agree on much, but we agree on this: we both hate it when people keep secrets. We've had enough of that to last a lifetime, between the two of us." He rolled his head along the back of his chair to look at Merlin more closely. "What do you think would have happened, if I had found out without you telling me?"

"Probably nothing good, sire."

"Mm."

They sat in silence for a while, drowsy with good wine and good company.

"I think you're right," said Merlin, after a time. "It's better this way. With you knowing, I mean. The dragon—"

"That damned dragon."

He could hear the smile in Merlin's voice. "—he says our destiny is different now. I think… I think what happened really was for the best."

"Well. I suppose we'll never know," said Arthur. He stood and yawned.

"I suppose not," Merlin replied. He stood too, taking Arthur's goblet and setting it aside. "Remember, we've got that delegation from Nemeth coming tomorrow."

"I haven't forgotten." He walked to the door easily, every inch of him relaxed and ready for sleep, and paused with his hand on the latch. "I know I don't say it often, but thank you, my friend," he said. "Rest well."

"You're welcome, sire," said Merlin. "Rest well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that. As the monks used to say, "Explicit, Deo Gratia" -- it is finished, thank God. More sincerely, my thanks go to all of you who have followed along on the journey, read, commented, and just generally been encouraging. I really appreciate it.
> 
> If you liked this one, I encourage you to read my other Merlin fics, assuming you haven't already. If you liked those, I would be flattered and honored if you gave the stuff from my other fandoms a look, and when you're finished with that, maybe browse my bookmarks and give some of the other authors here some love. The Archive hosts some truly tremendous work.
> 
> Thank you again!

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this work, feel free to follow [my Tumblr](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com).
> 
> And if you're bored waiting for me to update, I strongly encourage you to browse my bookmarks and leave some kudos and comments on other authors' works!


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